Two Days…
by Serit
Summary: 10 chs; Angst/Romance; AU, romance with Trip 'n' Mal. Begins as "Two Days, Two Nights," goes AU in the cellar & after; Chs 1-3 are T; Chs. 4-6 are M; I HAVE REPOSTED Chs.4, 5, 6, 7 and ADDED 8! CHAPTER 8 IS NEW!
1. But No More Nights

TITLE: Two Days... But No More Nights; 1/5  
AUTHOR: Serit  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed, but angst first.  
RATING: T  
WARNING/S: AU; Profanity; Angst; Character death.  
GENRE/S: Angst/Deception/Tourism/Romance;  
SUMMARY: Begins as "Two Days and Two Nights," goes AU in the cellar, and there's angst, but each chapter veers closer to "2D2N";  
DISCLAIMER: The premise of the Trekverse and concepts of all characters contained therein are the intellectual property of Gene Roddenberry, his Estate, Paramount Pictures, Viacom/CBS, and all actors who have portrayed them. No money is being made by me, and no infringements of these copyrights are intended. Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the galaxy's throne, without whom, etc.* Berman and Braga, Paramount, Viacom/CBS may have the legal rights, but we have the fantasies.

NOTE/S: The section between asterisks (**) is dialogue from the _Enterprise_ episode "Two Days and Two Nights." Everything after is AU. This is dedicated to everyone who has posted great fics here, but especially: Glory1863, Sita Z, RoaringMice, volley, Emiliana Keladry, Galactic Cannibalism, Rowvle, Seacook, BookQ36 and Nephthys Moon; and Leah, Elf, and Sal on Warp 5.

* * *

*****  
(In the nightclub's cellar, daylight streamed in through a skylight onto Tucker and Reed. They were stripped to their regulation Starfleet blue skivvies, and tied hand and foot.)

Reed: "Morning."

Tucker: "I don't know if it was those Risan mai-tais, or getting shot, but my head's killing me."

Reed: "It was probably both. The sun's up. We've been down here all night."

Tucker: "Great, our shore leave's half over. Hey! We need some help down here! Hello?"

Reed: "I already tried it. The club's closed."

Tucker (annoyed): "I don't plan on spending our entire trip tied up in a basement!"

Reed: "The Vulcan database didn't mention anything about crime."

Tucker: "They said it was very rare."

Reed: "What?"

Tucker: "It had some warnings, but I didn't think it'd be a problem."

Reed (in exasperation): "Wonderful!"

Tucker (indignantly): "You think this is my fault!"

Reed (shouting): "You were willing to follow two strange aliens into a basement!"

Tucker (shouting back): "Gorgeous aliens! Don't forget, they were gorgeous!"

Reed (still shouting): "They were male!"

Tucker (yep, still shouting): "Not at first! I don't remember twisting your arm!"

Reed (breathing heavily): "If we don't make it to the loading zone on time, they're going to start scanning for our biosigns. Do you want the Captain to find us like this?"  
*****

"No, but have you thought of anything yet?" Tucker shouted angrily.

"Trip, we‑‑I‑‑I have to get out of here‑‑" Reed began wheezing hoarsely.

"Got any ideas, 'cus I sure don't!"

"I‑‑I'm having difficulty breathing, and I think my wrists and ankles are swelling. I think I'm having an allergy attack."

"Are you sure?" Tucker swung his head around to get a better look at his friend, but he was in the shadows on the other side of the column.

"I‑‑I can't breathe, Trip, I can't‑‑" Reed wheezed, his voice sounding more hoarse. Before he could say anything else, he began choking and convulsing on the cellar's stone floor.

"Mal? Malcolm! Stay with me! Stay with me, Lieutenant, that's an order!" Tucker shouted; he rolled on the cellar floor, looking for something with which to cut the ropes. He pulled a bottle of alien liquor off the bottom shelf of a rack with his feet and broke it, then twisted around to cut his wrists free and then his ankles, ignoring the cuts into his skin. He knelt at Reed's side, cut his ropes, and made him comfortable on the cold stone floor. "Malcolm? Mal, stay with me! For god's sake, Malcolm, don't leave me!" He ran to the door and found it locked. "Hey! Help! Help!" he shouted, banging on the door, "We're down here! We were robbed! Help! My friend is ill! Help! Call for help! Help!" He returned to Reed's side and began CPR on him. He worked for many minutes to revive Reed, banged on the door again, then returned to working on resuscitating his friend.

After hearing the clamor coming from the wine cellar, the nightclub manager ran downstairs and opened the locked door. He was appalled to see two Humans, one with bloody wrists and ankles, the other with his skin paling to bluish-ivory. He ran to call emergency services. Minutes later, alien medics arrived and determined that Reed wasn't breathing. After watching Tucker for a moment, they performed chest compressions for him while he breathed into Reed's lungs.

After many minutes, the medics called Reed's time of death, just as Archer, T'Pol, and Doctor Phlox arrived with the local police chief and medical examiner. Tucker's wrists and ankles were bloody; he was kneeling, sobbing, and holding Reed's body in his arms. He looked up at Archer with a grief-stricken expression; "Oh, god, Jonny, he's dead! Malcolm's dead! It's my fault, I took him here, an' we got mugged, an' we argued, an' I never apologized to him, or‑‑or‑‑"

Now working on the Denobulan equivalent of adrenaline, Phlox knelt next to him, and put his hand on Tucker's shoulder. "Commander; Commander Tucker‑‑" he said softly, paused, and took a deep breath, "‑‑Trip‑‑" that got the engineer's disordered attention, and he looked up at Phlox. "Please, please put Malcolm's body down, please. He's not in his body anymore; he's not here anymore." It was probably the hardest thing he'd ever had to say in his short time aboard _Enterprise_. "The Risan medical examiner and I must scan Malcolm's body to determine the exact cause of death. Can you tell me what happened to the two of you?"

Tucker struggled to breathe and haltingly described the events from their arrival at the nightclub the previous night to when he woke earlier that day. He was traumatized, despondent, and quiet, and remained that way as Jonathan Archer conferred with the local police chief and government officials. Both Phlox and the alien doctor learned that Reed's death was caused by an allergic reaction from dried plant materials and spores in the cellar; he would not have died if he didn't inhale them overnight while unconscious, but that discovery did nothing to ease Tucker's guilt and despair. His anger and distress briefly surged when Phlox planned to have Reed's body transported to _Enterprise_. Seeing and understanding Tucker's agonizing grief, Phlox agreed to let him carry his friend's body up to the street, and government officials allowed Archer to pilot and land the shuttle on the street outside the hotel. The hotel's concierge provided bathrobes, and the engineer gently dressed Reed's body in one, but he ignored Archer's and T'Pol's suggestions to put one on himself.

Once back aboard _Enterprise_, Captain Archer made arrangements for Malcolm's body to be returned to Earth aboard E.C.S. _Horizon_, the cargo ship owned by Travis Mayweather's family. After Phlox cleaned and stabilized Malcolm's body, Trip clothed him in his Starfleet dress uniform and laid him to rest in a stasis housing. He cleaned Malcolm's bare and painfully neat cabin, packed his belongings for delivery to his family, but kept some of the mementos Malcolm had picked up in his short time aboard the ship. Trip remained depressed by his friend's death, and Phlox removed him from active duty. He stayed in Sickbay's small stasis room most of the time to be near Malcolm's body; it was convenient for Phlox and the other officers because he was nearby and could be closely watched. Archer made sure he returned to his quarters daily to sleep, shower, and dress; Hoshi and T'Pol brought his meals to Sickbay, not that he ate much; Travis and a steady flow of crewmembers stopped by during the day to offer their condolences and sit with him for a time. Trip accompanied Malcolm's body back to Earth. Starfleet had an honor guard and transport at Jupiter Station. His family met him in San Francisco, along with Mary and Madeleine Reed, Malcolm's mother and sister.  
*****


	2. And A Temporal Continuity Error

TITLE: Two Days... And A Temporal Integrity Error; 2/5  
AUTHOR: Serit  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed, but not here.  
RATING: T  
WARNING/S: AU; Profanity;  
GENRE/S: Deception;  
SUMMARY: Begins as "Two Days and Two Nights," goes AU in the cellar, and there's angst, but each chapter veers closer to "2D2N";

* * *

2525 C. E.: At the Temporal Integrity Agency, Director Pike was reprimanding two agents who were (are) aboard _Enterprise_ _NX-01_: Chef and Roberts (Daniels' replacement). "Reed wasn't supposed to die in 2152!" Pike was angry‑‑no, make that enraged. "Tucker was so devastated by his death he took medical leave and was killed with his sister when the Xindi attacked! Without Tucker and Reed aboard _Enterprise_, the ship was destroyed in the Expanse, and then Earth was destroyed! Now, go back and fix it, and don't screw it up!"

"Yessir!"

"Yes, sir." They stopped outside of the Director's office to divide the mission. Chef pulled out an ancient Greek coin he'd gotten on his first temporal field trip. "Heads, Tucker; tails, Reed."

"Thanks a lot for nothing, pal," Roberts said sourly, "I swear that coin is weighted."

"Well, it's not," He flipped the coin. It came up heads.

"See? I said it was weighted."

"Would you like to try two out of three? I'll let you flip."

"Don't bother; I'll still get stuck with Reed. I'll see you after the crisis point."

"Yeah, right; and make sure you get to your shift on time, pal!"  
*****

Commander Tucker loped happily into the Mess hall, looking for breakfast before boarding the shuttlepod to Risa. Before he knew it, an over-muscled, tattooed arm yanked him into the Galley and shoved him against a bulkhead. "You, get over here, you, and pay attention! I'm only going to say this to you once, and I expect your complete attention!"

"Uh, yeah, Chef, what do you want?" Tucker asked, confused and slightly alarmed by Chef's behavior.

"I'm gonna give you some advice you're not gonna forget, alright?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Don't go to any Risan nightclubs or casinos, don't get pissed drunk, and don't try to pick up any alien dames! I'd have thought you'd have learned that lesson by now! This is a list of cultural and educational sightseeing spots, because you need all the culture you can get, pal!" he slapped a thin datapadd against Tucker's chest, "They're free, so don't complain about money; take a taxi back to the hotel by sundown, and eat there! Here‑‑" he gave the engineer an elegantly foil-embossed Risan business card, "‑‑why don't you take Lieutenant Reed to dinner at the hotel's roof-top restaurant? I just hope you know how to behave properly in a formal restaurant! Now, get out of here, and try to stay out of trouble, will'ya?"

"Uh, yes, sir; right, Chef, you got it," Tucker stammered, stuck the padd and card into a pocket, and left the Mess without eating breakfast.

Reed was heading to his quarters to pack after he drilled his staff on Armoury procedures during his absence. He turned a corner and collided with another crewman. "Oh, excuse me, Lieutenant Reed! I'm so sorry, sir! Um, I know it's not my place to make suggestions, and you're very proficient at your profession, and we've been told that Risa is very safe, but‑‑"

"‑‑But what, Crewman Roberts?" Reed asked icily.

"‑‑But, well, sir, it seems that almost every time you go off the ship, you get injured, and um, well, I shouldn't be saying this," Roberts stammered, "but your staff admires and respects and likes you very much, and they're always very apprehensive when you get injured and you're in Sickbay, but I guess they don't know just how to go about telling you how they feel."

"Thank you for this information, but looking out for the crew is myduty," Reed said, stepped around him, and strode away. Roberts watched Reed enter his cabin and felt his stomach churn anxiously. He hoped Chef had better luck with Tucker. Roberts decided then that he hated time travel.  
*****


	3. And See the Beauty of Tuesday Afternoon

TITLE: Two Days... And See The Beauty of Tuesday Afternoon; 3/8  
AUTHOR: Serit.  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed.  
RATING/S: T.  
WARNING/S: Gen-to-slashfic.  
GENRE/S: Interstellar tourism and cultural misunderstandings.  
SUMMARY: This half of the title is from The Moody Blues' song "Tuesday Afternoon" (which was used in a credit card commercial of a father taking his children to an aquarium‑‑okay, that's not a Malcolm esque pastime, but it sort of fits with what happens.)  
**Many thanks to my beta, MrsTripTucker, who has had to put up with all my angst** **this year!**

The whole summary and disclaimer/s are in Chapter 1.

* * *

18 February 2152: "Hey, Mal, after we leave our bags in our rooms, why don' we grab lunch in the hotel pub; an' then, do'ya wanna go to the Technology Museum with me?" Trip asked after he and Malcolm were cleared through spaceport Security at Nuvia, the Risan capital.

"What?" Malcolm exclaimed, "Who the bloody hell are you, and what have you done with Commander Tucker?"

They laughed, and he nodded and chuckled, "Yeah, I know, it's not my usual ideah of a vacation, but Jon rang a peal over me las' night, an' Chef all but chewed me a new one this mornin'; I don' wanna go to Sickbay again, and I really don' want you to end up in Sickbay. I think the crew is bettin' on which of us is gonna get hurt first an' worst, and that isn't my idea of a weekend."

"It's not mine, either," Reed admitted, "I want a quiet vacation, but trouble usually seems to find us on its own."

"Well, let's avoid gettin' into trouble this weekend," Trip said, "I'll meet you in the pub in a few minutes." In his room, Trip called the hotel's exclusive roof-top restaurant and made a dinner reservation for them at twenty-one hundred hours. He then called the museum and asked if the Vulcan curator, who spoke English fluently, would give them a personal guided tour of the History of Weaponry Wing. The curator agreed readily, welcoming visitors who were exploring space for the first time. Trip didn't tell Malcolm about it; he wanted it to be a surprise, a pleasant surprise, for him. The officers had a quiet lunch in the hotel pub, and Trip dropped off Chef's foil-embossed Risan card at the Front Desk as they left. The concierge all but tripped over his feet (all four) when he respectfully took it; he spluttered so much that the UT Hoshi programmed had a hard time translating him, but he said he would take care of everything for them.  
*****

They took a taxi to the Technology Museum and spent the whole afternoon there. Malcolm was surprised, excited, and flattered when the curator, Professor Semek himself, escorted them through the History of Weaponry Wing, described the relics in detail, and allowed him to carefully handle some of them. The two officers enjoyed the afternoon very much. Malcolm was elated to view the weapons and be allowed to hold some; he asked hundreds of questions, it seemed. Trip was thrilled to see Malcolm so delighted and ecstatic; he was so pleased, he couldn't make any 'single-minded Armoury officer' jokes at his friend's expense, and even more importantly, he forgot to take photos. Semek also arranged for the museum store to remain open late for them only, even though they said they didn't want any special treatment. He said that Risa was very proud of its history, even its invaders' history, and he always valued the chance to introduce new peoples to the history of the places they were seeing for the first time.

The officers purchased many souvenirs; they both bought the 3-D vidbook catalog of the museum's current exhibits. Malcolm bought beautiful jewelry for his mother and sister, miniatures of ancient weapons in precious metals, adorned with first quality gemstones, and an unassembled model of an elegant, ancient Andorian surface ice rigger for his father. The instructions were only in Andorian, Risan, and Vulcan; Admiral Reed's fascination with ships possibly extended to alien ones, but he'd have to work to build the elegant model.

Trip also purchased souvenirs for his family: multiple copies of an inexpensive 3-D vidchip of Risa for his brothers, nieces, nephews, and cousins; an illustrated history on the development of food production and storage in space for his mother, the cook in the Tucker family; a history of Klingon medicine for his twin brothers who loved gore and would get enjoy the weapons and wounds; a 3-D vidbook on the architecture of Vulcan temples for his sister, Lizzie; and a history of World War III for his father‑‑and then he stopped, his blood running cold. The Vulcan author had written in English and included many first-hand accounts; one of his many middle, family, and clan names was Mestral. Tucker asked if the book was available as a datachip for a Vulcan padd; _Enterprise_'s Science Officer, Sub-Commander T'Pol, might find it interesting. Semek only quirked an eyebrow and asked the store manager to check inventory; a few minutes later, the chip, in an EMP-resistant sleeve, was added to their growing piles of items.

They didn't forget the command staff, either: Trip bought a Tellarite language program for Hoshi; a Risan vidbook on the planet's natural vacation spots for Travis; the WWIII history by Mestral for T'Pol; a Klingon strategic board game that didn't involve sharp weapons or physical conflict for Phlox; a text and vidchip of a Klingon martial arts form for Malcolm; a vidbook on Risan culture, cuisine, and religion for Chef, which included a small statue of an ancient pagan deity; and for Captain Archer, a strange book about "the many-worlds theory of quantum mechanics" by a 20th-century Human, Hugh Everett III, with additional notes and essays by a particle physicist named Beckett.

Malcolm bought a set of unsharpened Klingon hair sticks for Hoshi; an Andorian 3-D documentary series on extreme sports in the quadrant for Travis; a history of the Vulcan warp program for Trip; a datachip about archaic Risan medicine for Phlox; a 3-D vidchip Risan exercise series for Chef, and an unassembled model for Captain Archer, an ancient solar sail spacecraft from a previously unknown species, the Bajorans. He was looking at a pendant in the shop's display case and then turned to Semek, "Professor, is giving jewelry to a female Vulcan crewmember an acceptable thing to do?"

Both of Semek's eyebrows shot up when he looked into the display. "If you are referring to the circle and triangle pendant, it is a revered Vulcan symbol," he replied. "Perhaps you can give something less‑‑personal," he said and looked about the store, "perhaps a vidchip series of a Risan meditation and exercise form," he suggested. Malcolm nodded thoughtfully and added it to his pile. After they paid and were about to leave, Semek asked the store manager to call a taxi for them. "It will be only a few minutes," he said. "The museum has technical journals on datachip that may interest you, and I'd like to give you some back issues. Officers such as yourselves with extensive engineering knowledge will understand the mathematics easily," he said and pulled two small Vulcan datapadds enclosed in EMP-resistant cases from his tunic pocket.

"Professor Semek, you really don't have to give us anything," Malcolm said, "you've done so much for us today, and spent the entire afternoon away from your duties."

"Lieutenant, giving you and the Commander the tour was a very agreeable experience, and I'm pleased you appreciated it and the Museum," he replied, "These are a year's collection of issues from two of our technical journals in inexpensive display padds. Contrary to what Humans believe, Vulcans have adopted some of your customs, like businesses giving small, free gifts at conferences to promote trade. Please consider them my gift to you in exchange for a pleasant afternoon out of my office."

"Well, when you put it that way, sir, we'll take them, and we want to thank you very much for the tour," Trip said as he and Malcolm accepted the padds and slipped them into their pockets.

The Risan manager stuck his head around the storeroom door and said the taxi had arrived. "Good," Semek said, "Rowvle will get a cart for your purchases and load them into the taxi for you."

* * *

When they returned to the hotel, the day and evening concierges were flustered, pacing (and cantering) anxiously behind the front desk. They both grew more apprehensive when they saw Trip and Malcolm. "Honored guests, we must tell you of an unpleasant event," the day concierge stammered, "The rooms into which you were checked had to be closed because of a plumbing problem, and we have moved your bags with great security to your new rooms. Norpma'hn will take you to them now."

"Yes, we are very sorry for this inconvenient event," Norpma'hn said as he ushered them and the bellhops carrying their museum purchases into a turbo-lift. It shot up rapidly, and Trip and Mal exchanged anxious glances.

"What floor have we been moved to?" Malcolm inquired politely.

"Very good floor, very good, you have been moved to the‑‑" the concierge's translator squawked and he sighed in annoyance, "‑‑top floor, able to see all of Nuvia, day and night-"

"Excuse me, but do'ya mean you moved us to the penthouse floor?" Trip asked in shock.

"Yes, yes, top of hotel except for restaurant," he replied and dashed down the corridor when the lift opened, the bellhops and officers following him.

"We don't need penthouse rooms," Malcolm protested, "Are other vacant rooms available?"

"Because the hotel has inconvenienced you, our honored guests, the hotel will pay for the trouble you, our honored guests, have experienced," he explained, "Not only that, but this is much more proper and respectable for you and your revered _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations."

"Pli-what celebrations?" both men said simultaneously.

"Oh! Apologies!" Norpma'hn said contritely, "Apologies for mentioning your revered private matters aloud. Humans are a new people to us, but we want to learn quickly and satisfy all our honored Human guests. And the doctors of your ship call to identify‑‑" his translator squealed again and he growled, or swore, in his language, "‑‑the foods and flowers of your people, and there will be no unpleasant events during your celebrations."

"Doctors? Which doctors called?"

"Your ship doctors‑‑Doctor Phlox and Doctor Chef," he replied, seeming confused. He moved aside from the open door to let them and the bellhops enter.

Malcolm and Trip just stared at the room in dumbstruck amazement. The entire wall across from the door was one huge window, ending at another wall to the right with a door centered in it. A glassed-in balcony could be seen through the window, and the rest of the room was just as opulent. It was a rather large room, Malcolm thought; hell, it was nearly the size of the shuttle hangar all right, possibly the size of the gym, but with a lower ceiling. He looked up and his mouth dropped open in speechless awe. It was painted in mingled shades of rich marine blue and amethyst, and dotted with twinkling lights, representing the night sky above Risa. The other three walls were painted in a graduated marine blue/amethyst scheme, from lightest near the floor to darkest, blending into the ceiling. The room's artwork appeared to be evening views of natural Risan scenery, and the paintings had the same twinkling lights as the ceiling. "I'm sure there's been some mistake!" he exclaimed.

They saw that the wall to the left of the door appeared to have a fireplace in it, with a niche above it holding a small statue; the concierge saw them gazing at it. "No, honored guests, no mistake, we have provided a _horga'hn_ to bless your _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations and sacred _jamaharon_. The fire is a holoscreen built into the wall; it can be programmed for only the appearance of flames, or flames and heat."

A Starfleet-issue travel bag sat atop one credenza; Malcolm walked to it. "This bag is mine; we hadn't unpacked before we left for the museum." The bellhops placed the bags and boxes on the other credenza and left.

"No mistakes, honored guest, this is your key, please remember to press thumb on lock when using key," the concierge said and gave him the room's keycard. Besides the credenzas, there were two spacious armchairs and a loveseat sofa grouped before the fireplace, and another armchairs-and-loveseat grouping turned towards the window wall, with end tables arranged around all the pieces. Both officers avoided examining the huge bed in the center of the room. It had a glistening silvery metal and bent dark wood bedframe that Malcolm thought reminded him of Art Nouveau motifs. He also thought it was the size of his cabin aboard _Enterprise_; it was dressed completely in white bed linens and blankets, with too many pillows for his taste, and the only hint of color was an amethyst duvet. The floor was made of incredibly wide hardwood boards, stained to emphasize the grain, and a luxurious, incongruously green rug was centered under the bed, with more than a metre on the floor around all four sides.

The entire wall across from the door was one huge window, ending at another wall to the right of the entrance which had a door centered in it. They were near an outer corner of the hotel, and Malcolm guessed that door led to Trip's room, but he wondered where the 'facilities' were, since he needed to use them before they changed for dinner. Norpma'hn the concierge led them across the room. "See? All your required ritual supplies are here, yes," he gestured towards the bedside tables built into the elegant frame, "the room of bathing and elimination is through here." He pressed a button and the door slid open, revealing the most lavishly luxurious bathroom Malcolm had ever seen. The glass outer wall of the hotel continued into the bathroom, and a huge, rectangular tub with a sliding cover was placed in the corner. "Good heavens! There are lakes in Britain smaller than that!"

"I think we could swim laps in that an' not bump into each other," Trip chuckled; Malcolm glared at him.

The concierge explained what the icons meant on the programmable fixtures; they noticed some floor-to-ceiling opaque glass doors of locked cubicles. "These are plumbings of other peoples, we lock in respect for their privacy," he said. A door was centered in the other wall at right angles to Malcolm's room that Norpma'hn opened. "This is your room, and no mistakes either, honored guest, and your key," he said to Trip, "Please remember to press thumb on lock when using key." The floor plan was the reverse of Malcolm's room, with the same floor-to-ceiling glass along the outer wall, door centered on the inner wall, holoscreen fireplace with niche and native statue across from the bathroom, similar elegant furniture, and the same huge bed. Instead of the marine blue/amethyst color scheme in Malcolm's room, Trip's room was decorated in tones of deepest indigo blue and claret, with the same twinkling lights in the ceiling and paintings. "This is the key to the private lift to the restaurant of _ly'oobeet_ _kaht'yee_," he said, giving Trip a circular diskcard as wide as his palm, and he finally left them to rest in peace and quiet before dinner.

"Would you mind if I‑‑I used the‑‑the facilities briefly?" Malcolm asked shyly.

"Of course not! If you don't mind, I'm gonna go into your room and take all my stuff to my room," Trip replied.

"That's fine, I won't be a moment." When Malcolm returned to his room, Trip was struggling to balance all of his purchases in his arms. "Here, let me help you," he took half of the pile to Trip's room; After he'd put the items down, he said, "You may shower first, if you like."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not the _Enterprise_, Trip, we aren't going to run out of water."

"All right; I won't be but five or ten minutes," he said.

Malcolm returned to his room, opened his travel bag, took out the suit he was planning to wear that evening, shook the wrinkles out, and laid everything out on his bed and credenza. A minute later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. He pressed the door button.

Trip stood there, wearing his bathrobe, and holding his Starfleet-issue toiletries kit. "Uh, Mal, I don't know how to say this, but we've got a couple of problems."

"What?"

"There isn't a shower, for starters, and the bathroom doors can't be locked, from inside the bathroom or from the bedroom, and I tried."

"Well, we're only going to be here for another day, and the vanity sinks are nearly as large as the tub," Malcolm said, "It's not as if we did anything strenuous today; I can just wash up quickly and damp-rub my hair. We can figure out what we'll do tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll scrub up first, and then you can go in," Trip said. It may have taken each man a little longer to soap up and rinse off, but they were as clean as if they had taken showers.  
*****


	4. And All Our Nights To Come

TITLE: Two Days... And All Our Nights To Come; 4/8  
AUTHOR: Serit.  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed.

**RATING/S: M; explicit sexual language, m/m sex, and garden-variety profanity.**

WARNING/S: Explicit warm 'n' fuzzy romance between Trip 'n' Mal.  
GENRE/S: Angst/Romance. Interstellar tourism; miscommunication; cultural misunderstandings.  
SUMMARY: Begins as "Two Days and Two Nights," goes AU in the cellar, and there's angst, but each chapter veers closer to "2D2N".

**Please note: Explicitly described m/m sex within; if you don't like it, don't read it!**

Second note: Trip's accent gets stronger when he's drunk, and certain consonants, like the endin's of words, ten' to get slurred or dropped. Third note: Malcolm‑‑well, let's just say that Mal stammers‑‑a lot.  
**Thank you MrsTripTucker, my beta!**

* * *

For dinner, Malcolm and Trip dressed in fashionable suits‑‑trousers, jackets, and shirt or sweater. Trip's mouth dried and his heart hammered in his chest when he saw Malcolm in his black suit and black cashmere turtleneck sweater. If he had known that Malcolm reacted similarly when he saw Trip in his stylish deep blue suit and blue shirt, the evening may have started differently. Their reservation had been upgraded to the restaurant's roof-top glass conservatory, with a 180-degree view of the Risan capital city and the night sky after sunset. One intimate table was prepared for them, and they were completely alone, except for the waiter and sommelier, who kept their distance unless needed. After they had ordered, and their wine was poured, Tucker and Reed both seemed tongue-tied.

"What shall we drink to?" Malcolm finally asked.

"To us, and to a well-earned two days and two nights," Trip replied, and they clinked their glasses, creating a sweetly melodic chime. The food was meticulously prepared and luscious, the conversation ranged from intellectual to witty, and each man thought their dinner partner was the most intelligent, talented, and incredibly handsome man he knew. The Human _prix fixe_ meal was delicious. Each course was just large enough so the men could appreciate the food's flavor, aroma, and texture, but not so generous that they were filled by any one remove. The Risan sommelier brought a different wine to their table for each course: hors d'oeuvres, soup, fish course, meat course, poultry course, savory pastries, salad, dessert tray, and cheese platter. "Is it me, or is the order of the food courses mixed up?" Trip asked Malcolm in a whisper after the sommelier left after pouring the fourth or fifth wine.

"Yes, you're right," he replied, "it's the European order of courses." After they leisurely finished the delectable meal, they walked around the conservatory's perimeter, taking in the sights from their high vantage point. "Look, Trip! I think that moving light is _Enterprise_ on orbit!" Malcolm exclaimed in a hushed voice.

"Well, I'll be‑‑I think you're right!" The observation called for more wine, until both knew they had imbibed too much alcohol and stopped before becoming ill. On the lift down to their floor, they quieted and became introspective, not something Trip Tucker did often.

Trip wondered why he'd been so happy when he'd seen Malcolm excited and thrilled at the Museum. Ordinarily, he'd be bored stiff being forced to go to a museum, even a technology museum, but this time it was different. He did it for Malcolm this time; he was with Malcolm, and he realized that made the difference. Trip wanted to kick himself when he realized where his thoughts were heading. Malcolm was his friend, albeit a skittish one, and he wouldn't be the least bit interested in him as a sexual lover. He wanted to tell his friend how deeply he felt about him; he didn't want to ruin their developing friendship, and being unable to tell him what he felt twisted his guts into knots. _Oh_, _snap_ _out_ _of_ _it_, _Tucker!_ he thought, _you're_ _drunk_ _and_ _you're_ _getting_ _sappy_, _and_ _there's_ _nothing_ _worse_ _than_ _a_ _weepy,_ _sappy_ _drunk_. But he was still sad about being unable to talk about the depth of his feelings with Malcolm. He didn't realize it, but tears welled in his eyes by the time they reached their rooms, and his friend had noticed.

Malcolm wondered guiltily if he had spent too much time at the Museum; _that_ _must_ _be_ _it, _he thought;_ and Commander_ _Tucker_ _is_ _too_ _polite to_ _complain_ _about_ _my_ _selfishness._ He worried about the demands he put on their friendship, the most precious intangible he possessed. He dearly wanted to think of Trip as his friend, but he didn't know when the Commander would dump him, so he didn't use the word. He wondered why the Commander hadn't stood him up or told him off long before this; he knew the man wanted to be called 'Trip', but Malcolm couldn't ignore his training. He knew he'd be hurt when the Commander finally cut him loose from his friendship. He thought of Trip as his best friend at times; he was the only person in his adult life even close to being his friend. Malcolm also felt sexually attracted to him, but he was burdened by and ashamed of his desire. He felt sick and wicked pining for, not just a man, but for the Commander; he would not risk ruining their friendship over a selfish infatuation that he was sure would disgust Trip. He would have liked to tell him about his longing, and possibly feel some understanding or even affection from him, but more likely, Trip would ridicule, insult, or beat him up for expressing his pathetic emotions.  
*****

They were still very drunk, but very quiet, when they reached their rooms, leaning against the wall outside of Malcolm's room as he fumbled to find his keycard in his pocket. Trip didn't want the warmth in his stomach, which had nothing to do with food or alcohol, to leave and leave him feeling lonely. "Mal, um‑‑I wanna ask you somethin', but will'ya promise me ya won' kill me for askin' it?"

"What?"

"Please, will'ya promise me ya won' kill me for askin' ya this?"

"Yes, I promise, now what?"

"C'n‑‑I may I please kiss you g'night?"

"Wh‑‑what?" Malcolm squeaked in disbelief.

"I‑‑I would like to kiss you g'night, but I won' force ya if you don' wan' t'be kissed." He saw his friend's stunned expression, realized he had insulted him, and lowered his head. "I'm sorry I asked'ya, Mal. I won' ask'ya again; I never wan'ned to lose your frien'ship "

"Are‑‑are you asking because you're drunk, or because you want to to kiss me?"

He raised his head so fast that his neck bones audibly creaked. "Wha‑‑what did you say?"

"Are you asking to kiss me because you're drunk, or because you want to kiss me?" he asked.

_He_ _looks_ _thoroughly_ _wretched_, Trip thought, _I wonder_ _why_. "I‑‑I want to kiss you, but I'm too chicken to ask you when we're sober."

"Yes," he replied.

"Huh?"

"Yes, you may kiss me good night, Trip."

"I don' want you to feel like I'm forcin' you," he said, "you don't hafta if you don' want to."

_Why_ _is_ _he_ _being_ _so_ _bloody_ _kind to_ _me?_ "It's all right, sir; you're not forcing me; I'm fine," he replied in a whisper, but he lowered his head, just as Trip had earlier.

_Maybe_ _Mal's_ _jus'_ _tired_ _an'_ _he's_ _humorin'_ _me_, Trip thought. He took a step closer and lifted his friend's face with a shaking hand. His eyes were closed; _it's_ _not_ _like_ _you're_ _goin'_ _to_ _your_ _execution_, he thought in annoyance, _or_ _maybe_ _he's_ _just_ _a_ _romantic_. He gently pressed his closed mouth on Malcolm's lips in a sweet, chaste kiss. He wanted to run his hand through his wavy auburn-brown hair, clasp him in a loving hug, and kiss him longer and more deeply, but he didn't want to frighten his friend.

Malcolm had closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see any deceit, ridicule, or lechery in his companion's eyes. He was astonished by the gentleness and affection in Trip's kiss. He was also surprised and grateful that he didn't violently shove him against the wall, continue kissing him roughly, or ravage him. He wished Trip's gentle kiss had lasted longer. "Thank you, thank you very much, Trip," Malcolm whispered after their lips parted. His eyes were still closed, and he lowered his head again.

"Mal? Are you all right?" Trip thought Malcolm held himself stiffly at attention at first, but then, surprisingly, his friend relaxed and leaned into his kiss. _Maybe_ _he's_ _interested_ _in_ _me? Malcolm must be the last person in the galaxy I'd ever think would be interested in me!_

"Yes, sir, I'm fine," he replied automatically.

Trip fought his frozen mouth for a moment before he could speak once more. "May‑‑may I please kiss you again, please?"

His friend lifted his head quickly, surprise and confusion in his eyes, "Wh‑‑what? Why?"

" 'Cus! B'cus kissin' you makes a warm spot in my tummy!" Trip blurted out, "an' so does spendin' time with ya, an' it has nothin' to do with bein' drunk!" Malcolm replied so softly to his outburst that he didn't hear him clearly. "Wha'ja say, Mal?"

"W‑‑would you like to come in?" he repeated hesitantly.

"Oh, right, yes, thank you‑‑" Any other words faded on his lips. His friend opened the door, they entered, and stood motionless. They didn't need to push up the lights. The room had been transformed with thousands of battery candles of every size placed on every horizontal surface, creating an inviting, magical glow. Thousands and thousands of pale blush pink flower petals carpeted the floor, the furniture, and the huge, opulent bed. The holoscreen fireplace played a cozy fire, crackling and heating the room.

"Did you do this?" Malcolm exclaimed angrily, turning and glaring at Trip.

"No! No, I didn't! I dunno what happened! Chef chewed me out this morning! He gave me that alien card an' tol' me to take you to dinner, an' I dropped the card off at the front desk before we went to the museum."

"And when we returned, we were being treated like visiting dignitaries!"

"I don' think they think we're dignitaries," Trip replied, suspicion replacing the fuzzy warmth in his stomach. He ran through their shared bathroom, looked into his room, and returned.

Malcolm leaned against the doorframe. "The leftover wines arrived here before we did," he said, gesturing towards the credenza on the window side of the room. The unfinished bottles of their dinner wines in ice buckets were arranged on the table.

"My room an' the bathroom are decorated like this too, an' the tub is filled an' bubblin', with lights on," Trip reported. His friend's anger had disappeared, but his wretched expression had returned. _What_ _do_ _I_ _do_ _to_ _bring_ _back_ _the_ _intelligent,_ _witty_ _dinner_ _partner he was_ _earlier?_ he thought; _I'd_ _do_ _anything_ _to_ _have_ _his_ _relaxed_ _kiss_ _back_ _again!_ "May I please kiss you again, please?" he asked softly. Malcolm seemed surprised. Before receiving a reply, Trip's hands twined through his friend's hair, his hands unfastened jacket buttons, belt buckle, and zip fastener, his hands massaged his back under his jacket. "Has anyone ever tol'ya how sof' an' velvety your skin is?"

"Trip, you're petting my swea‑‑ahh!" he gasped in shock as the engineer's hands slipped under his cashmere sweater, caressed his skin, and fingered his nipples. _It_ _feels_ _like_ _being_ _electrocuted!_ _That's_ _what_ _you_ _get_ _for_ _playing_ _around_ _with_ _an_ _engineer!_ "Mmm! Mm-mmm!" he mumbled, his mouth plundered by a deep kiss, and he grasped Trip's upper arms for support.

He thought Malcolm was trying to push him away. Trip released him and gently touched his face with trembling fingertips, but he flinched and drew back. "Aw, geez, Mal, I'm sorry I kep' kissin' you," he said, "I just like kissin' you so much that I couldn' stop when I should've." _I_ _just_ _ruined_ _the_ _mos'_ _importan'_ _frien'ship_ _of_ _my_ _life_, _an'_ _now_ _Mal's_ _afraid of_ _me!_

"It's kind of you to say that, but I said you could kiss me again," he replied, "I‑‑I wanted to tell you wh‑‑what I feel, but fraternizing with a senior officer is against regulations, sir." He looked up at Trip. _Why_ _does_ _the_ _Commander_ _seem_ _so_ _sad?_ _He can_ _take_ _whatever_ _he_ _wants from me!_

"I didn' mean to kiss you without your permission; I'm sorry I didn' stop when you wanted me to." Trip apologized again and left through their shared bathroom. In his bedroom, he shrugged off his suit jacket, removed his shoes and socks, and began to untuck his shirt when he felt the call of nature. He returned to the bathroom, did his business, and washed his hands. He was about to go back to his room when he heard a faint noise from the other side of his friend's door. "Mal? Malcolm? Mal, are you there?" he spoke loudly and knocked, but received no reply. He knew the bathroom doors didn't lock, but he didn't like barging into someone else's room.

He heard the muted noise again a moment later and decided to find out what it was. He entered and looked around. "Malcolm?" He heard a noise like muffled hiccups, and silently walked further into the room, wiping the soles of his feet on his trousers because the flower petals stuck to everything, especially skin, it seemed. Trip found Malcolm near the hall door where he left him. He was huddled on the floor, leaning against the wall, knees tucked against his chest, his arms tightly wrapped about his legs, and his brow rested on his knees. "Mal, are you all right? Are you havin' an allergy attack? Are you havin' an asthma attack?" he asked worriedly, knelt, and brushed his friend's tousled hair away from his face.

He didn't think it was allergy attack; it would have manifested itself immediately at dinner, and Malcolm didn't refuse any of the food served. Could it be the flowers? Wouldn't a reaction have appeared when he walked in? Trip wondered what could have caused an asthma attack. He supposed being forced to kiss him may have made his friend angry, but he didn't think it would cause an asthma attack. If the Security Officer was that angry, why didn't he resist and defend himself? He was angry enough when he thought Trip had decorated his room like a honeymoon suite‑‑why didn't he haul off and plant a good right hook when Trip assaulted him? Claims of self-defence and charges of insubordination were always investigated. He wouldn't lie about this incident; he cared too much about Malcolm to lie. He'd honestly admit that he misunderstood how far his friend was willing to go when they kissed.

Malcolm still breathed in uneven muffled gasps and appeared not to have heard him. Trip suspected that his current condition was related to the wretched expression on his face before their first kiss, but he couldn't understand: _Why_ _is_ _he_ _so_ _miserable,_ _and_ _if_ _he_ _didn't_ _want_ _me_ _to_ _kiss_ _him,_ _why_ _didn't_ _he_ _tell_ _me?_ "Please don't hunch up like that, you won' be able to breathe," he said in a kind voice. He knelt behind Malcolm and moved his head and body back to rest upon his chest. His friend's eyes were squeezed shut; his whole body trembled uncontrollably from holding the hiccupping noises behind his tightly closed lips; and he turned his head towards the wall when he moved him. "Shh, it'll be all right, Mal; please, talk t'me, tell me what's wrong, tell me how I can help you." He rubbed Malcolm's chest‑‑atop the cashmere sweater this time‑‑for a time, then moved his hands and stroked his friend's throat and face to soothe him. "Relax, breathe slowly and deeply," he murmured, "in through the nose, out through the mouth, relax and breathe‑‑" His friend tried to turn his upper body to face the wall, but he held him just securely enough to keep his back against his chest. He gently rocked Malcolm, tenderly stroked his hair with one hand, and encircled his torso with his other arm.

Trip put one arm beneath his knees, wrapped his other firmly around his shoulders, and stood; Malcolm was heavier than he appeared because his well-built muscles were dense. He carried him to the bed and laid him on the duvet, all while murmuring kind words into his friend's ear. "Please don' be sad, Mal," he said and removed his shoes and socks, scattering flower petals everywhere. "It hurts me t'see ya hurtin' when I don' know how t'help you; please, tell me what's wrong," he whispered, sat on the bed, held him in his arms, and placed his friend's head on his shoulder. "It'll be all right, darlin' deares'," he murmured and gently pulled off his suit jacket, one sleeve at a time. "Relax, breathe slowly, breathe deeply," he whispered, "In through the nose, out through the mouth, relax and breathe‑‑" He tossed the jacket to the foot of the bed, petals flew through the disturbed air, and he laid Malcolm down, who rolled over with his back facing him, petals sticking to his trousers and sweater. He removed the few items in his friend's pockets and placed them on the bedside table. Trip reached cautiously for his belt buckle, and guided it out of the loops across his back. Trying to take off his sweater or trousers could result in his friend resisting, but he decided to risk it.

"Shh, it'll be all right. Hush, deares' Malcolm, please don' be sad," Trip adjusted his best friend's position on the bed, held him closely, gently pulled his arms out of his sweater's sleeves, and covered his eyes carefully with one hand as he pulled the sweater off his head. Trip moved Malcolm on the bed as he shifted about, the waistband of Malcolm's unzipped trousers migrated to his knees, and flower petals stuck to his warm, toned, and smooth skin. He tried to get his friend's attention before removing the garment, planning to let him sleep in his boxer briefs. "Mal? I wan' to take your trousers off, so you don' wrinkle or rip them in bed. Deares', I won' hurt you, I would never hurt you, but will'ya help me here, please?" He moved his legs slightly, which Trip took as agreement or acquiescence. He lifted Malcolm's legs and removed his trousers. As he turned to place the suit on a chair, Malcolm crawled on his hands and knees to the bed's edge and grasped Trip's waist. His shaking hands unfastened Trip's belt, tugged his trousers' zip, and pulled his briefs down. "Mal! What tha'hell do'ya think you're doin'?"

"I'm sorry, Trip, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't lay out for you when I should have‑‑"

"What?"

"‑‑I'm sorry, sir, I'm very sorry," he said with difficulty as he tugged Trip's briefs below his privates, grasped his narrow hips, and pulled himself closer to suckle his hardening phallus, "I'm sorry I didn't lay out for you before‑‑"

"Malcolm, I would never ask you for sex or force you to have sex with me!" Trip shouted in horror. He firmly grasped his friend's shoulders and moved him onto his back in the center of the huge bed. "Now, stay there! Jus' stay right where you are for one damn minute!"

Malcolm closed his eyes, his body trembling, "Y yes, sir," he replied with a shaking voice.

Trip pulled his briefs back up to his waist, and yanked his trousers off his feet. He looked through his pockets to find the item he wanted, threw the garment onto a chair, removed his shirt and threw it there as well. He took a deep breath, then climbed onto the huge bed to kneel next to his friend.

Malcolm lay motionless on the bed. His lean and compact muscles could not accept any more nervous tension, and they throbbed painfully. He had spread his legs apart, and rested his right foot on the velvety duvet, his leg bent at the knee, to make removing his boxer briefs easier. He felt and smelled bruised flower petals sticking to his bare arms, legs, back, and chest. His arms rested at his side, one tear trailed from his closed eyes, and his face was turned away from the Commander. "Mal, I'm sorry I shouted at you," Trip apologized, "Things were jus' racin' out of control, an' we both needed a time-out." He finger-brushed Malcolm's tousled hair away from his face and tenderly caressed his right cheek. "Please, Mal, please turn your head, open your eyes, an' look at me." He didn't want to open his eyes after being touched so lovingly. He didn't want to face reality, but he dearly wanted Trip to remain his friend. He turned his head because his caresses were so gentle, he wished they could stay like that forever. He felt something wipe his face, and he tensed anxiously. "Mal, I'm jus' dryin' your face with my han'kerchief," he murmured, "an' I am so sorry I assaulted you. You are too beautiful and too precious to have your soul, or your feelin's, or your body hurt, by me or anyone else."

After the Commander's last puzzling remark, Malcolm opened his eyes in bewilderment. "I‑‑I don't understand, Trip; why did you leave?"

"I left 'cus you pushed me away; I thought you didn't want me kissin' you anymore."

"I don't remember doing that. I only remember you pinching my chest‑‑" he mumbled. His left hand covered a hardened nipple, and he blushed, "‑‑and deep kissing me until I thought I was going to pass out."

"Aww, I didn' mean to hurt you, Mal; you should've tol' me to stop "

"‑‑I didn't want you to stop kissing or or touching me, I‑‑I wanted to hold you while you held me," he mumbled shyly, "I didn't understand why you apologized and left. I thought it was my fault, but I didn't know what I did to make you leave, or what to say to bring you back," his voice faded, and he turned his head away again.

"Oh, Mal, I'm so sorry! It was not your fault!" Trip exclaimed, "I thought you didn't want me kissin' an' pettin' you anymore!" The silence seemed to last for hours, but actually only lasted for several minutes. He cleared his throat anxiously. "Um‑‑uh‑‑did you mean that, what you jus' said?"

"Which part of what I said?"

"You said you didn' want me to stop kissin' or touchin' you, an' you wan'ned to hol' me while I held you. Would you still like me to kiss an' touch you some more? Do‑‑do'ya still wan'ta hol' me while I hol' you?" Trip asked apprehensively; Malcolm appeared ill at ease and he added, "I'll only do what you'll let me do; if you don' want me to do somethin', then I won' do it."

Malcolm closed his eyes again and turned his face towards Trip. "I liked it when you were stroking my face," he said quietly.

"Do'ya mean like this?" Trip caressed his face and neck in long, slow sweeps of his fingertips, first his right cheek a few times, then his left.

"Yes," he whispered, and Trip continued the strokes for what seemed a long time. He turned his face away because Trip's touch was so loving, so tender‑‑so arousing, it took all of his self-discipline not to audibly sigh. He didn't realize that he was breathing heavily, or that Trip could see him trying to control his feelings. After a while, Trip's caresses lengthened onto his chest, and he began gently nudging his friend's hardening nubbins in passing. "W‑‑would you please kiss me, please?" he stammered bashfully many minutes later, unsure what his request would unleash. Trip had lightly stroked a sensitive spot on his neck again, and Malcolm did moan aloud softly, just as his friend's lips touched his. Their tongues tangled in their mouths, until he desperately, impatiently suckled Trip's tongue, moaned again, grasped his friend's shoulders, and spread his legs further apart, his left knee nudging Trip's thigh.

Trip ended their kiss slowly. "You don' hafta open your legs for me," he said and gently pushed his legs together. "You don' hafta lay out for me on a firs' date. I want you to be sure you want me as much as I want you."

He opened his eyes. "I'm sure that I want you very much, Trip; how much do you want me?" he asked, anxious and eager in the same breath. "Please come here, Trip, please," he said, pulling on his friend's narrow hips, trying to move him between his spread legs.

"Mal, I don' want us t'go all the way b'cus of a misunderstanding‑‑"

Malcolm's shaking hands gripped his friend's shoulders. "Don't do this to me, Trip!" he shouted frantically, "I'm a miserable, desperate, celibate bisexual with high standards who hasn't been happily laid in many years, who wanks off in the shower much too damn often for his own damn good after being confined in a frigid shuttlepod for too damn long with the most annoying Chief Engineer in Starfleet!" The most annoying Chief Engineer was about to reply, but Malcolm kissed him deeply, impatiently, and moved his hands upon his best friend's body. "There hasn't been anyone special for me for a very long time, and I want to please you tonight because I think there hasn't been anyone special for you, either, and I don't care if you break my heart tomorrow, because I want one night of pleasure with you to remember for the rest of my life!"

Trip's reply contained admiration and lust in equal parts: "Malcolm!" They frantically kissed and groped and growled incoherently, scattering decorative pillows and flower petals all over the room, until they had removed their 'Starfleet blues' briefs and were kneeling in the middle of the huge, opulent bed, facing each other, stark naked, awe-struck, and suddenly tongue-tied.

"Trip, just fuck me!" Malcolm said impatiently, "We have to feel each other to get to know each other, and I don't care about the details. I‑‑Want‑‑You‑‑In‑‑Me‑‑Now! I want to please you and I don't care what you do to me tomorrow!" They burst into another bout of energetic kissing, hissing, spitting, and clawing like wildcats, until Malcolm was flat on his back, his legs loosely around Trip's waist, and their hard phalluses rubbing against each other as their tongues tangled in their mouths. "For heaven's sake, Trip, GET‑‑IN‑‑ME, NOW!"

"I can' bear t'see'ya in pain, an' I'll be damned if I'm gonna be the one to hurt ya!" his future lover replied. "Didn' the hotel guy mention somethin' about 'ritual supplies'?" He leaned across the bed, snagged the bedside table's drawer knob with two fingers, and pulled it. He stared for a long moment and let out a slow whistle.

"What?"

"It looks like they packed every sex shop in San Francisco into this drawer!"

"What?" Malcolm pushed himself up with his arms to look, then collapsed back onto the bed, a stunned expression on his face. "Bloody hell, we'll never leave this room!"

"Well, we'll never leave this room alive," Trip replied, smiling seductively. He grabbed some items and caressed Malcolm's inner thighs lightly with his fingertips. They kissed deeply and continued to grind against each other.

Malcolm noticed nothing until he felt as if he was electrified by a delicate touch upon an organ even more private than his privates. He opened his mouth to shout, was electrified again, and his body arched towards the starlit ceiling. Trip knelt between his parted legs, lifted his dearest love's rear slightly off the bed, pulled away an errant petal or two, then cleaned, caressed, and briefly licked Malcolm's muscle ring as his love incoherently shouted his name, overwhelmed by powerful surges of bliss. He sheathed himself, then lubricated, stretched, and entered him, accompanied by his moans and sighs of passionate ecstasy. Trip held Malcolm impaled upon his rigid erection, tilted his body back onto the bed, took his stiff shaft into his mouth, and kissed, licked, nibbled, and suckled it as he repeatedly thrust and Malcolm fired a flood of sweet, creamy fluid down his throat. "Oh, oh; oh, god; oh, Trip!" he screamed breathlessly as his nervous system was submerged beneath a tsunami of exquisitely fierce blue pleasure.

His skin paled to alabaster; even the blush pink flower petals appeared glaringly red upon him. He sighed and went limp in Trip's arms. "Mal, deares', are you all right?" Trip asked, leaning over and holding him. Malcolm whimpered and turned his head away, and a tear or two trickled from his eyes. "Mal? Malcolm?"

He opened his eyes and gasped, horror-stricken, as he gazed up into his senior officer's eyes. "I‑‑I dreamt‑‑" he closed his eyes tightly, "I‑‑I'm sorry, Commander; I‑‑I dreamt that we‑‑we made love, s‑‑sir," his voice faded, and he turned his head away again.

"Deares', we did make love, an' since m' warp core is still in your bowels, the leas' you can do is call me Trip," he gently held his lover's head in his hand and kissed his lips, "Your cream tastes like pineapple juice, but you scared me half to death when you fainted."

Malcolm opened his eyes; they flashed angrily. Trip was reminded of a quote about Zeus or some other ancient god with lightning bolts shooting from his eyes. If Malcolm's eyes had been particle cannons, he would have been instantly vaporized. "Reeds‑‑Do‑‑NOT‑‑Faint. Ever." he said sharply, "I might have been short of breath, but I did not faint."

"Sure'ya didn't, darlin' deares'," he whispered in reply, smiled at the beautifully handsome man he held in his arms, and kissed him again. Trip was officially whipped. He knew it, and he didn't care at all, as long as he could have Malcolm to himself for the rest of their lives. He tightened his grasp on his dearest love and kissed him again.

After a moment of hesitation, Malcolm relaxed and responded, "I‑‑I'm sorry I spoke so harshly, Comm‑‑Trip," he mumbled contritely. He had been plunged beneath a tsunami of intensely powerful pleasure while Trip both penetrated and dropped down upon him. He nearly had lost consciousness, and he felt as if he had been swamped and drowned in Trip's ocean of energetic passion. _How_‑‑_how_ _did_ _he_ _do_ _that_ _to_ _me?_ he thought after he had ejaculated for the second time. Comparing himself to Trip, he was distressed about his inadequacies, and his anxiety shot to stratospheric heights. "I‑‑I want to please you tonight, but I‑‑I'm a rather cl‑‑clumsy lover, and I‑‑I don't want to disappoint you‑‑" he mumbled bashfully.

"Mal, you're my best friend, an' I'm your best friend. I know for a fact you're not clumsy, an' nothin' you do could ever disappoint me." Trip smiled warmly as he lay back against the pillows Malcolm had just left.

Malcolm cleaned and covered his own organ, then cleaned and resheathed his lover's phallus with shaking hands. "I‑‑I'm shorter than you, Trip; I'm rather sure I c‑‑can't enter and‑‑and drop down on you at the same time," he said self-consciously, "I hope y‑‑you'll feel as‑‑as pleased as I was; I‑‑I don't think I'm as large as you "

Trip sat up and hugged Malcolm, who was kneeling between his legs and shuddering uneasily, "Mal, makin' love isn't only about size, or somebody's nervous system goin' off like fireworks," he said and lightly kissed his explosive lover. "I know we didn' come here for a one-night stan'‑‑I know I didn', an' I don' think you did, either. It's not only about how someone feels physically after he's launched his rockets; makin' love is also about what you feel for the person you're with. I know you're serious about your feelin's; I'm serious about my feelin's‑‑I love you very much, an' I wanna show you how much I love you, whether it's holdin' you or wringin' you out 'til you've‑‑you're shor'ta breath." He then appeared concerned. "There are alternatives to penetration; should I not have entered you on our first night together?"

"No, no, Trip! If anything, I persuaded you! I was desperate, and I haven't been laid for a very long time! I know it's only a physical need, but I get‑‑very lonely‑‑sometimes, and I know I should resist this need and be stronger than I am. I‑‑I should have told you sooner than tonight that I‑‑I love you, T‑‑Trip, but I didn't know how you'd react, and I‑‑I didn't want you to‑‑to end our friendship because of what I feel," Malcolm stammered, squeezing his eyes shut so his tears wouldn't spill.

"Shh, Mal, I know, deares', I know; I love you, an' I wouldn' end our frien'ship if you tol' me how you feel," Trip replied and adjusted his hug around his embarrassed lover.

"I do love you, and not just anyone will do, not even for a one-night stand‑‑and you are not a one-night stand, Trip! You believe me, d‑‑don't you?"

"Shh, Mal, I believe ya, darlin' deares'; an' I wan' you t'believe that I love you dearly, too."

"There hasn't been anyone for me for a long time because I hadn't found anyone who feels right for me, until I‑‑I met you, but I didn't know how you'd react, and I‑‑I didn't want you to‑‑to end our friendship because of what I feel, and I didn't know what I'd do if you didn't want me‑‑or want a‑‑a committed relationship with me," Malcolm mumbled and lowered his head.

"I could tell that you valued our frien'ship, an' I could tell you wan'ned to be close frien's for the right reasons, not the wrong ones, an' I'm glad I feel right for you b'cus you feel right to me," he said, "Anythin', everythin' you give me, is lovin'ly an' wholeheartedly sincere b'cus I can feel it, Mal. Yes, I wan'ta have a committed relationship with you, an' you jus' have to relax b'cus I know you're a better lover than you think you are," he took his ashamed lover into his arms and massaged his back and arms. "I think we oughtta practice every night, as much as possible."

"Trip!" Malcolm was shocked, but Trip merely guffawed, necked, and nuzzled his lover.

Calming down after a few moments of his stimulating attention, he cleaned, stroked, and tongued Trip's anus for a moment, accompanied by his best friend's groans and growls of uncontrolled arousal. He lubricated, stretched, and entered him, his breath merging with Trip's roars of uninhibited ecstasy. Trip pushed pillows behind his back, wrapped his legs loosely around Malcolm's waist, and kept an arm around his dearest love as he stroked his hard length and they rocked in time with his thrusts. They shouted energetically when their organs explosively fired their thick fluids and ignited their euphoria.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't good, if I didn't give you as much pleasure as you gave me‑‑" Malcolm mumbled self-consciously, "I‑‑I have to work harder to satisfy a‑‑a partner; I‑‑I'm sure I didn't give you as much pleasure as I received from you," he said, "but I could, if I drop down on you now," he whispered, his voice fading. "You‑‑you must be a better lover than me because I‑‑I've never, um‑‑ejected twice in any intimate encounter I've ever had, with anyone, male or female," Malcolm whispered shamefacedly and lowered his head.

"You gave me a whole lotta pleasure, Mal! You shot me to the moon, an' y'ain' clumsy, so don' let anyone ever tell you otherwise! I wen' wil', deares', because I was with you!" Trip said. He quieted, gently embraced his insecure lover, and massaged Malcolm's neck, back, and arms. "I love you dearly, an' yeah, I still want a committed relationship with you, an' you jus' need to relax b'cus I know you're a better lover than you think you are." He left the bed, and returned moments later with two hot washcloths on a tray and a medium-sized towel from the bathroom. He lovingly cleaned Malcolm's shaking body, wiping away dozens, nope, hundreds of flower petals. "Deares', are you sure you ain' comin' down with somethin'?" he asked, "You're shakin' like a leaf‑‑"

"‑‑I'm fine, Commander!"

"‑‑You mus' be if you're usin' your 'F' word," he replied, chuckling. "I love you, Malcolm, an' I'm all yours, but I never again wan' to hear you call me 'Commander' or 'sir' when we're off-duty!" Malcolm looked up into his eyes. Trip smiled, dropped the damp washcloth on the bedside table, and tenderly embraced his dearest love. They kissed again, sweetly, and this time, they both closed their eyes. "Hol' that thought, deares'," he whispered and wiped up the rest of the mess and flower petals from the bottom sheet.

While battling the sheets and covers, they discovered four flat sheets between them and the blankets; Trip threw the pillows to the foot of the bed and pulled the lowest flat over the bottom sheet. They straightened the covers, fluffed the pillows, and crawled in. "Do you think the sheets are arranged that way to make it easier to get back to sleep?" Malcolm asked.

"Yeah, no arguin' about who's gonna end up in the puddle," his best friend and lover replied and took him into his arms, being careful not to crowd the smaller man. They tucked themselves under the dry, warm covers, fidgeted a bit to find the most comfortable spot, and slept nestled together until early morning.  
*****


	5. Innocence and Mystery

TITLE: Two Days… Innocence and Mystery; 5/8;  
("Innocence and mystery never dwell long together.")  
AUTHOR: Serit.  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed.

**RATING/S: M; explicit language, r****ecollections of torture and sexual assault; PTSD.**

WARNING/S: Recollections of torture and sexual assault; post-traumatic stress disorder.  
GENRE/S: Angst; just plain angst.  
SUMMARY: The full summary and disclaimer are in Chapter 1.  
**NOTE for this chapter**: If a star has a different stellar classification than ours (which is a G2V), its planets' 'terrestrial zone', length of day, and length of orbital year will be different. This is one of the reasons why Malcolm is worn down so soon when he recounts what happened to him. Also, considering that 'evening' on Risa lasts fromCh.4 to Ch.6, the same is probably true there as well.

* * *

Malcolm awoke with a shudder; he had dreamt again about being held in Commander Tucker's arms. It was the same dream he always had, when he wasn't tormented by nightmares of horrifying experiences he hoped never to remember again. He thought he was restrained in a sack‑‑or on an extra soft bed‑‑and he panicked for an instant, until he lifted his head from a velvety, napped pillow and realized that he was being held in Trip's arms, and the velvety, napped pillow was the man's chest covered with fine, silky hair. He slipped out of his friend's arms and went to the huge bathroom to use the facilities.

After he finished his business, he washed his hands at the large vanity sink and turned for a hand towel off the heated towel rack. When he turned, he suddenly came face-to-face with the tub, lit from within, its air-jets stirring the water. Malcolm became petrified with fear at the sight of the huge and deep tub. Cold chills and panic-triggered perspiration washed over him like surging ocean waves. His vision focused only on the huge, deep tub, and he felt as if he was being pulled towards it, into it. He tried to shout or call for Trip, but was only able to get out one loud, inarticulate gasp before his voice froze in his throat.

Trip snorted, waking from a dream where he had held Malcolm. They kissed so deeply and throbbed so passionately that they both exploded from arousal, and Malcolm loudly sighed his explosive satisfaction before becoming "short of breath." Then he realized it hadn't been a dream; he discovered that his friend loved him, and he hadheld Malcolm all night, too. He woke a few times during the night when Malcolm mumbled, tossed and turned because of nightmares, but he tenderly held his best friend‑‑his dearest love‑‑caressed his brow or face, and kissed him lovingly, and Malcolm's distress faded without him waking. He rolled over, looking for him in bed, and then noticed that the bathroom door was stuck in the open position. He left the bed to look for him.

He found Malcolm frozen in fear; his body was pale, trembling, cold, and sweat-slicked. His eyes were wide open with dilated pupils, staring at the huge tub, and he was hyperventilating, his breath coming in short puffs. Trip needed to break his friend out of his fugue state, comfort him, and get him back into bed. He pulled himself up to his full height, straightened his shoulders, and stood in front of Malcolm to block his view of the tub; then he realized that it would take more than just snapping his fingers to free his dearest love from the nightmare in which he was trapped. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't know what Malcolm might do in his current condition, but he had to try. Trip stepped closer, close enough that he knew his friend couldn't see the tub over his shoulder. "Darlin' deares', come with me away from here," he murmured in the regretful tone he used to apologize to Malcolm after their explosive knock-down, drag-out arguments about power allocation, when T'Pol or Hoshi would point out that Reed's Armoury was the only thing protecting his precious engine. "Malcolm, dearest‑‑" he whispered gently, "‑‑please close your eyes for me, please."

A strangled gasp came from his friend's throat. "Help me, please help me," he wheezed, his jaw almost locked.

Trip didn't know what else to do. "Mal, deares', please close your eyes for me," he repeated softly, placed one hand on his face, and wrapped his other arm around the slender man's waist. "Please close your eyes," he leaned forward and kissed his dearest love's quivering lips.

When their mouths separated minutes later, Malcolm's fear-filled eyes and shocking statement shook Trip to his core. "Help me, Trip, please help; th‑‑they'll come to torture me soon; they'll d‑‑drown me, w‑‑waterboard me again," he muttered, his jaw clenched and frozen with fear.

_What the hell‑‑?_ he thought. _Where_ _was_ _that_ _coming_ _from?_ _What_ _did_ _he_ _not_ _know_ _about_ _his_ _best_ _friend_ _and_ _lover?_ He knew he had to act quickly, or Malcolm would pass out, which might not be a bad thing, but he wanted to learn when and where his love had been waterboarded. "Will'ya tell me what happened to you? Where you were, an' when did it happen?"

"I‑‑I was on Goraveso in the Tau Hydrae system," he said, "I‑‑I was traveling on a cargo ship, just visiting the planet. The city police became suspicious of me; they arrested me just outside of the alien sector, and questioned me for three or four days. They weren't very gracious‑‑" only Malcolm Reed could criticize an alien police force for their poor hospitality, "‑‑no amenities. Their days are longer than Earth's, so it was very tiring, but I didn't have any answers for them," he gasped. "On the fourth or fifth day, I was moved from city police to security police custody in a different part of the city."

"Please tell me what happened to you," Trip whispered.

"I was in a cell for‑‑I don't know how long; my sense of time was already messed up from being in the other jail. The interrogators questioned and beat me daily and uncomfortably shackled me to the wall at night for one of their weeks. They didn't give me water or food, or let me use the lavatory. There were ordinary jailers who'd come in the middle of the night, when the guards weren't around, and unchain me‑‑they weren't supposed to‑‑just long enough to give me some water and for me to move my bowels," he said with distaste. "The‑‑the security police kept everyone in small, separate cells that were lit continuously, but the lights could be turned off if they wanted them off. The lights in my cell went out, and‑‑and the door opened, but I was already tired from trying to answer the city police's questions, and I couldn't see how many interrogators there were‑‑three, or four. They sprayed something in the cell that made me lightheaded, so I couldn't resist them, and then‑‑" he stifled a groan.

‑‑And then Trip realized what must have happened to his dearest love, and he regretted making him recall these painful memories. "‑‑I‑‑I am so sorry, Mal, I never meant to hurt you; it hurts me to see you in pain, an' it hurts even more when I know I'm the cause. I never wan'ned you to relive these awful memories, 'specially if I made 'em to come back to you. Once you tell your story, even if it's only to one other person, or, hell, even jus' to Porthos‑‑we know he won' tell anyone‑‑you've thrown it away," he whispered sympathetically, "an' it won' eat at you, an' it won' be chained to you anymore."

"‑‑And they unshackled me and ripped off my clothes, a‑‑and shackled my wrists and ankles to the bunk, and then th‑‑they r‑‑raped m‑‑me many times, and I screamed, I was screaming until one of them stuffed something into my mouth‑‑it was my soiled briefs‑‑and they kept r‑‑raping me until I passed out," he whispered, choked back a sob, and hung his head guiltily. "I‑‑I'm sorry I lied, Commander; I should have told you sooner, an‑‑and I can understand if you're angry and disgusted because I‑‑I'm damaged goods. Y‑‑you don't have to stay my friend if you don't want to‑‑if you don't want me‑‑" his mumble faded to silence.

"Now just you wait one damn minute!" Trip yelled, firmly grasping his shuddering and shocked lover by his shoulders; Malcolm's eyes were wide, confusion- and fear-filled, "‑‑you jus' told me what happened, an' I'm hurtin' 'cus you suffered so much hurt an' pain there, but I ain' angry at you, I ain' disgusted with you, you're gonna be my bes' frien' forever unless you don' wanna be, you ain' damaged goods, an' don' call me Commander when there's no need to!" He calmed after his outburst, grabbed a large bath towel, wrapped it around his friend and lover, and placed a hand over his love's eyes, "Malcolm, my darlin' deares' love, I'm not disgusted with you, you were at those people's mercy, or lack of it, more like, an' forced against your will, an' I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at the people who hurt you so badly. Please close your eyes for me, please let me hol'ya," he whispered and sweetly kissed his lips, "Please come away with me from here." He removed his hand slowly.

Malcolm's confusion- and fear-filled eyes looked up into Trip's; he understood exactly what his dearest love feared more than anything: _rejection, and the loneliness that accompanies it_. He placed a gentle, but shaking, hand on his cheek, and his heart ached when his friend flinched. "D‑‑do you s‑‑still want to stay my friend? D‑‑do you s‑‑still want m‑‑m‑‑me?" Malcolm stammered, barely audibly.

Trip leaned down so they were eye-to-eye. "Do I want to stay your friend? Let's see‑‑" he paused only briefly, before Malcolm could assume the worst‑‑and he would‑‑ "I still want to stay your friend because you are my best friend, and you'll be my best friend forever. Do I still want you? I want you as my professional colleague, as my best friend, as the dearest love in my life, as my bedmate‑‑" He felt Malcolm going limp and beginning to fall, then he scooped him into his arms; his best friend reacted with shock and squeaked in surprise. Trip carried him into the bedroom, placed him gently onto the bed, and proceeded to briskly rub his sweat-slicked body dry with the towel to stimulate his circulation.

Malcolm just stared at him in shock, and possibly awe. "‑‑T‑‑Trip‑‑" he mumbled, a flicker of doubt still in his eyes.

He threw the towel to the foot of the bed, raising a dust storm of flower petals‑‑_what, do they fall outta the ceiling when we're not in the room?‑‑_pulled a flat sheet loose from the layers tucked on the bed, wrapped it around Malcolm, and clambered in next to him, pulling the covers over them. "Do I still want you? I want you to be my best friend, my dearest love, my bedmate‑‑" he embraced his friend and stroked his face with his still shaking hand, "‑‑even if I only get to hold you to chase your nightmares away, I still want you." He raised himself on one elbow, cupped his face with his shaking hand and deeply kissed his dearest love. Brow to brow, noses almost touching, Trip's mouth hovered over Malcolm's. "Will you please tell me everythin' that happened to you, Mal? Please? I'm not gonna stop lovin' you b'cus of this; yeah, I might have to process it, and that might take a bit o' time, but it won' stop me lovin' you, an' it won' stop me from bein' your friend."

Trip's desperate and compassionate gaze finally calmed Malcolm, when all his words had been taken with enough grains of salt to preserve a cask of cod on Nelson's flagship. He yawned, then stiffened and tried to sit up. "I‑‑I'm sorry, Trip, I just‑‑"

"‑‑I know, you're plumb tuckered out from that panic attack," he replied softly, settling him back onto the bed, "an' I don' hol' that against you, either. If you need to take a nap, I'd be mighty honored to be your pillow."

"Trip!" he exclaimed, all doubt and fear dissolved in that instant. Malcolm turned and kissed his lover slowly for a few minutes, until he sighed and rested his head on Trip's chest. "I'll make it a short nap," he mumbled and yawned again, asleep and snuffling softly only seconds later.

"Yeah, right, pal," Trip murmured quietly. He wrapped one arm around Malcolm, his other hand caressing his cheek and stroking his hair, until he adjusted his position slowly, so he wouldn't wake him, turned his head and kissed his brow, and tipped his head to rest against his love's.

He stirred, something was shaking in bed; Malcolm was mumbling, tossing, and turning in his arms. Trip held his dearest love, kissed him lovingly, and stroked his face and neck, but this time, he woke with a panting gasp. "‑‑T‑‑Trip, Trip‑‑"

"S'all right, I'm here."

"I‑‑I'm cold, Trip," he mumbled, "I‑‑I know you're warm, I'm sorry‑‑"

"Do you want to sit by the holo-fireplace? There's a remote, I can turn up the heat a bit for you."

"Yes, please, thank you."

"C'mon," Trip sat up, folded back the bedding, and stood; he reached his hand out and Malcolm took it, grabbing his sheet with his other hand. He released his love's hand and clasped his hips, setting his feet on the floor. He draped his arm around his slender shoulders and they walked to the loveseat sofa. Malcolm shrugged him off and walked to the other end of the alien animal fur rug, where he unwound the sheet around himself and re-wrapped it in an ornate pattern.

Trip sat on the sofa and fiddled with the remote until the dying embers crackled into a cozy fire spreading comforting warmth around them. He looked at his lover's sheet and gestured with a hand, "What's up with the fancy sheet-foldin'?"

"It's a toga; I did have a classical education, you know," he said, and his lips lifted slightly.

Trip chuckled, "Only you would know how to fold a toga," his brows furrowed, "So, what did Roman men wear under their togas?"

"The same thing Scots wear under their kilts."

"C'mere," Trip said, smiling, and patted the cushion next to him, "We'll cuddle, an' I'll snog ya senseless."

"I‑‑I feel too restless to sit right now."

"Fight or flight?"

Malcolm smirked, a flicker of his dry wit returning to his eyes. "Something like that, yes."

"Do you feel up to tellin' me what happened?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the sofa, knees on his elbows, but focused to catch any mood changes from his best, closest friend.

"If you can stand my stops and starts‑‑"

"‑‑Please tell me everythin' that happened to'ya in your own way, Mal; I won' stop lovin' you, an' I won' stop bein' your best friend an' lover."

Malcolm exhaled shakily, turned to face the holo-fireplace, as if drawing warmth from it, and then turned to face his lover. "After‑‑after that very bad night, the interrogators questioned and beat me during the day, and g‑‑gang r‑‑raped me at night for one of their weeks, and then they began t‑‑torturing me during the day," he said softly. "I‑‑I endured nasty, biting alien ants for a week; a horrible itching powder or sand for another week, and electric shocks for another week. Then th‑‑they tied me, gagged and blindfolded me, and w‑‑waterboarded me."

"An' is that what panickin' at the sight of water has to do with Goraveso?"

"Not really; I've always been uncomfortable around water. My father, the Royal Navy officer, thought I was cowardly, but I'm not. I had worked very hard to get over my fear," he said rapidly, pacing from one end of the fur rug to the other, "The interrogators‑‑they'd almost drown me, to get me to talk, but I still didn't have anything to tell them."

Trip stood and intercepted him. "Well, you're here now, so how did you get out?" he gathered his shuddering lover into his arms and gently rubbed his back.

"There‑‑there were two groups of jailers in the prison: the torturers, who interrogated and tortured people, and the ordinary jailers, who were the administrators and clean-up crew. After I'd been there for about one of their months, one jailer said he'd help me get off the planet; his name was Drud. He told me that his older brother had been at university a few years before and discussed government reform with his friends, published editorials in the campus newspaper, but the current regime considered all dissidents to be rebels and insurgents. His brother and many university students were arrested one night; it financially and emotionally broke his family trying to find out what became of him. The records showed he was transferred to the regional prison in the foothills, but his family was never able to visit him. Drud joined the city police and then became a state jailer to learn what happened to his brother. He wasn't transported to the regional prison, he died in that same security police prison I was in, he died from being tortured to death by the interrogators."

Trip swore softly under his breath and tightened his grip, rocking Malcolm in an effort to soothe him. "Why‑‑why'd that jailer help you? You were an alien to them, after all."

"The jailers saw how sick I'd become and felt sorry for me," he chuckled once, "I was getting ill from the waterboarding‑‑some kind of native microbe or fungus in the water‑‑and, of course, I got sick from it. They at least boiled the water they gave me, and I probably would have starved to death if they hadn't fed me; I certainly wasn't being fed by the torturers. After being there for about four Goravesan months‑‑nearly eight months by our calendar‑‑they found a Human pilot with a cargo ship and made arrangements to get me off the planet."

"Y'know, once you tell it, deares', you've thrown it away," he said sympathetically, "it won' be chained up inside you anymore, an' it won' be eatin' at you anymore‑‑"

"But it's still eating at me! It's still chained inside me, and it has been for nearly ten years!" Malcolm exclaimed, "I went through a year of painful physical therapy to learn how to breathe on my own again! And I went through a year of intense psychological counseling to get past the r‑‑rapes and the t‑‑torture!"

Trip felt his eyes dampen and his upper lip tremble. "Were your nightmares caused by what I did to'ya tonight? Is that why you had this flashback? B'cause I can't bear to think I caused your nightmares if I was too rough with you tonight."

"Nightmares? What nightmares?"

"You were tossin' an' turnin', an' mutterin' under your breath quite a few times," he said, "I held you in my arms, an' stroked your face the way you like, an' kissed you so you knew you weren't alone, you were with someone who loves you, an' you relaxed an' went back t'sleep."

Malcolm appeared taken aback by Trip's description. "Oh," he mumbled and lowered his head.

"Later, I woke up and got worried, 'cus you weren' in my arms, an' the bathroom door was open," he continued, "You must've been standing close enough that the sensor detected you an' opened the door, but you weren't moving. I came in an' you were froze in place, havin' a panic attack. I didn' want you to see the tub, I kissed you an' asked you to close your eyes, I was worried that I couldn' get you outta that fugue state," he explained, "but then you started talkin' like you were in another place an' time."

"What‑‑what was I saying?"

"You asked me to help you 'cus 'they' were comin' to torture you, you said they'd waterboard you again." Trip felt his chest tighten with emotion, "I never wan'ned you to relive those awful memories, 'specially if I made 'em to come back to you." He felt his tears spilling down his face. "Here, lemme put you back in bed‑‑" he said, "an' I'll go back to my room. You can call _En'erprise_, an' tell Sub-Commander T'Pol that I tried to beat you up, an'‑‑an' you‑‑" He averted his gaze, but heard muffled noises, and turned his head.

"No, please, no, no‑‑" Malcolm keened softly. His head was lowered, his arms were wrapped across his chest, gripping his sheet, his eyes were tightly closed, and he tried to contain his wretchedness behind tightly closed lips, making stifled hiccuppy sounds.

"‑‑I‑‑I'm sorry, Mal, I never meant to hurt you; it hurts me to see you hurtin' an' in pain, an' it hurts me even more when I know I'm the cause," he said and wrapped his arms around his love.

Malcolm whispered, "Don't leave me, Trip; pl‑‑please don't leave me again." He rested his head on Trip's chest, and pressed his shivering body against his. "Why‑‑why are you apologizing to me again?"

"What? I'm apologizin' because I was too rough with'ya in bed, an' too rude to ask how far you wan'ned t'go the firs' time we made love!"

"You can do whatever you want with me, sir, you don't have to ask‑‑"

"What? That has got to be one of the dum'es', most illogical things you have ever said, an' don' call me 'sir' when you got no call to!"

"I‑‑I'm not as logical, or as brave, or as strong, as you think I am."

Trip then knew that something else must have happened to him while he was imprisoned and tortured. "Please tell me what also happened," he said, stroking his hair.

"They‑‑they shackled me and put the itching powder on my body, and it didn't take them long to figure out that if they put it on my‑‑my phallus or anus‑‑it would drive me even more crazy from the itching and burning. I got infections from the ant bites, and they were worried about brain damage from the electric shocks, so they used the powder the most."

"Wha' happened to'ya then, deares'?"

"When they began waterboarding me, I begged them to stop; they saw that I was terrified of drowning, but I still had nothing to tell them. The section commander broke me by threatening continual water torture, without asking questions, until I drowned or died from heart failure or I could become the torturers' sex slave in the prison‑‑"

"What?"

"He could tell that I'd been 'broken', but in a different way; he thought I began enjoying being shackled, being raped, being irritated by the powder. I said they could do whatever they wanted to, not that it mattered, because they did whatever they wanted anyway. But‑‑but by the end, they saw that‑‑that I did en‑‑enjoy it‑‑" A sob caught in his throat and he turned away from Trip, who caught and embraced him firmly.

"Mal, what they did to you was atrocious, but you were bein' tortured‑‑"

"But I still feel sick and filthy because I enjoyed it!" Malcolm shouted distraughtly.

"They did whatever they wanted to you because they had all the control an' you had none!" Trip replied hotly, "You resisted as much as you could; they said they were gonna kill you, an' you did your dam'des' to get some leverage back, even if it hurt you!"

"I‑‑I was so desperate that I let those‑‑those monsters handle me like a‑‑a pet, a possession! They even called me 'the torturers' pet'!" he screamed hysterically, "I hoped they'd treat me better because I freely gave myself to them! I still feel twisted and dirty because I enjoyed it!"

"Remember when I said that love isn' only sex and nerves goin' off?" Trip asked. Malcolm nodded silently. "I'll bet'cha anythin' that, by the time you submitted to them, your mind and your soul were already numbed by all the atrocious things they'd done to you. Your nerve endings responded because it was automatic, like switches bein' turned on an' off; you didn't enjoy what was bein' done to you‑‑your body did. It's not like you could have refused; you could have tried to, but they would have raped you anyway‑‑"

"But I should have been stronger! I should have been able to control myself; I should have been able to resist enjoying what they did to me! I still can't forget what I allowed them do to me, what I agreed to let them do to me, and those memories still hurt," Malcolm whispered. "Every time I think I've met someone who might understand, and we reach that point in the relationship to share personal, private things, I tell them about what happened to me. Instantly, I can see in their eyes if they think I'm one sick fuck, or if I'm damaged goods, and the relationship is more or less over soon after that."

"Y'know, deares', you don' have to tell me all of this now, if you don' wan' to," Trip murmured gently, "This was supposed to be a relaxin' weeken' for us, an' here I've gone an' dredged up memories of awful things you'd rather forget." Malcolm appeared stunned by his lover's remark, and breathed heavily, as if he had been running a long distance race. Trip thought it over, long and hard_‑‑okay, he was distracted by Malcolm's trembling lean and compact body pressed against his, but he had more important things to think about now_. "Please sit here on the sofa," he said softly and knelt on the rug before his dear love. "You are not one sick fuck, an' you are not damaged goods," he said and inhaled, "You are a precious soul, an' a dear an' cherished person to me, an' you are too precious an' beautiful to have your soul, or your feelin's, or your body hurt, by me or anybody else."

"‑‑Trip‑‑" Malcolm whispered, trying to grasp the importance of his friend's words.

"I want you to look into my eyes, Malcolm Reed; you aren' gonna close your eyes or turn your face away, because you will look into my eyes for as long as it takes you to figure out what I feel for you, how I feel about you, for as long as it takes you to understand that I love you an' I want you," he murmured, "I love you dearly, an' I love you completely, an' I love you as you are‑‑an' you are not sick, an' you are not damaged, an' I will always love you." He smiled and clasped his dearest love's hands and smiled, willing all the love he felt to shine from his eyes like the tears seeping from them.

Malcolm's eyes darted in every direction before meeting his lover's gaze. "Please, Trip, how can you say that you‑‑you love me? How can you say you want me, knowing what you know about me? I'm selfish, I'm demanding, I'm worthless, I'm pathetic, I'm sick, I feel filthy‑‑" he replied, shook his head, and tried to turn from Trip's gaze but could not. "I'm afraid because I don't know when you'll throw me away;" he whispered finally, "You're the one person in my adult life who's my friend, but I don't know how to keep your friendship. It's the most precious thing I possess; you are the most precious thing‑‑person‑‑in my life, and I‑‑I don't know what to do, how to tell you what I feel, how to keep you in my life," he said, his body oscillating, willing himself not to cry.

"Malcolm, I will never 'throw you away'," Trip said, pressed his chest against his friend's legs, and wrapped his arms loosely around his lover's bony hips. "You are not selfish, you never ask for anythin' for yourself; you do not deman' anythin' for yourself‑‑yeah, I know, you want every extra gigajoule of energy from the engine, but that's understandable, considering your position aboard th' ship; you are not pathetic, or worthless, or weak, or useless‑‑you're resourceful, intelligent, talented, excessively well-trained, an' incredibly handsome‑‑" his lover rolled his eyes, and Trip straightened his back, cupped Malcolm's face in his hand, and gently kissed him. "You are not sick, or perverted, or filthy; I'll never throw you away, an' I'll stay with you forever, if you want me for forever." The two men gazed at each other for a long time, as Malcolm tried to understand the depth and significance of Trip's words. "C'n‑‑can we please get into bed an' just hold each other, please?"

"T‑‑Trip," Malcolm mumbled, "I‑‑I never thought anyone would understand‑‑"

"I un'erstan' some of it, an' we'll take it slow so I can un'erstan' the rest of it," Trip wiped away Malcolm's tears with his thumbs. "Can we please get into bed an' just hol' each other, please?"

"Y‑‑yes," he whispered and nodded, still appearing incredibly dazed.

Trip picked him up and returned to the bed. He pushed back the covers, placed his dearest love in the center, crawled on, and crossed his legs. He reached, grasped, and carefully shifted Malcolm onto his lap. He held him gently against his chest and flipped the covers around themselves and over their heads, forming a little cave with only their faces uncovered. "Mal, you ain' selfish, or demandin', or pathetic, or worthless. I don' think you're sick, an' I don' think you're filthy, 'tho I think we might wanna talk about you makin' peace with your memories of what those torturers forced you to do," he murmured.

"A‑‑all right."

"Needin' help doesn't mean you're weak or lackin' in somethin'; it jus' means you need extra techniques‑‑weapons‑‑to change how you react to‑‑how you feel about‑‑the thing that's chained to'ya, that's eatin' at you," he said quietly. "Refresher counselin' an' my love will help you‑‑an' I really hope you believe that I love you, an' you let me help you. I will always love you, even if you can' get over your memories, an' I will always hol' you when you have nightmares, or when you're lonely."

"I‑‑I'd hoped that you might understand," Malcolm said, "but I vowed I'd never say anything because I thought you'd ridicule or‑‑or thrash me for expressing m‑‑my pathetic feelings, and I never wanted to ruin our friendship."

"I'd never hit'cha for sayin' somethin' so personal, an' if you'd said somethin' earlier, I would've responded enthusiastically," he replied and tenderly kissed his love. "I don' wan' to bring this up here an' now, but what in heaven's name made you think that you had to lay out for me or anyone else on a date?" Malcolm turned his head quickly; Trip glimpsed surprise, confusion, and a flicker of fear on his face. "Aww, Mal, you know it shouldn't be like that‑‑"

"‑‑I wasn't always a Security Officer, Trip," he said quietly, "and I'm small for my age. Why do you think I'm so quiet and 'reticent'? It took me a long time to become as skilled at self-defence as I am now, and‑‑and to defeat the memories I have, even some memories before Goraveso."

"Mal, please, can we jus'‑‑just sleep together an' hol' each other? Love ain' min'-blowin' sex all the time," Trip said, "I wan' to apologize to you for bringin' these bad memories back, an' I wan' to help you so they can' hurt you anymore."

"‑‑But, do‑‑do you think I'm all right? I‑‑I'm not 'one sick fuck' or 'damaged goods', am I?"

"You are not one sick fuck, an' you are not damaged goods," Trip reassured him, "Do you wan' me to prove to you that you ain'?"

"Yes, please, Trip; yes, prove it to me."

Trip kissed him, moved his dearest love onto his back, straightened his limbs, and adjusted a pillow beneath his head. He began a silent and slow mouth and fingertip massage from his toes, caressing every square inch of Malcolm's lower body until his body arched, he gasped, moaned, shouted, and his phallus sprayed a flood of sweet liquid into Trip's mouth. After he calmed from that sensory onslaught, Trip continued the massage, from his inner thighs to his face, stroking him with the merest lip, tongue, and fingertip pressure. He was eye-to-eye with him, his hands and arms keeping his torso from pressing upon his dearest love, although their rigid phalluses chafed against each other, generating sensual heat. His eyes were closed, and a blissful smile lit his face. "Malcolm? Mal, are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled wordlessly, sighing.

"Did I hurt you?"

His eyes flashed opened. "No! Trip, you'd never hurt me!"

"Just answer my questions; did I restrain you, or force you against your will in any way?"

"No! No, you'd nev‑‑"

"‑‑Did I put or use anything on or in your body that caused you discomfort or physical pain?"

"No, but‑‑"

"Did you have an orgasm?"

"Oh, god, yes, Trip, but‑‑"

"‑‑No, Malcolm, I just proved your theory wrong," he replied, "I didn't tie you down, force you, or cause other physical pain or discomfort, an' you still exploded like Io's volcanoes. I don' know about you, but that makes you pretty normal, in my opinion, although I think 'miserable,' 'desperate,' an' 'celibate' are pretty good qualifiers for 'horny'‑‑"

"‑‑Why, you‑‑" the young Armoury Officer flipped his lover onto his back and knelt over his thighs.

Trip rolled both of them over. "Gotcha," he whispered into Malcolm's ear.

"I'm so happy that it's you who's got me," he replied.

"Me too." They hugged each other tightly, pulled the covers over their heads, and fell asleep again.  
*****


	6. Stuck in the Middle With You

TITLE: Two Days... Stuck in the Middle With You; 6/8  
AUTHOR: Serit.  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed.

**RATING/S: M; explicit sexual language and references to m/m sex.**

WARNING/S: Explicit sexual language and references to m/m sex.  
GENRE/S: Phobia and romance.  
SUMMARY: The full summary and disclaimer are in Chapter 1.  
**NOTE:** I would like to thank my wonderful and overworked beta reader, MrsTripTucker, for her generous assistance, especially when she's busy with academic stuff!  
**NOTE:** Sensory processing disorder is a neurological disorder that causes difficulties with the taking in, processing, and responding to sensory information about the exterior environment and the interior environment within one's own body (visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory, gustatory, vestibular, and the perception of one's own body and its parts). I think Malcolm suffers from this; all stimuli is **too much** stimuli and he just had to fall in love with Trip Tucker, who can pretty much be called a stimulus generator…

* * *

Malcolm twitched and woke instantly. He had dreamt of kissing Commander Tucker again; he wished his sleeping mind wouldn't play such cruel tricks on him. He thought he was wrapped in a cloth or sack, but something‑‑or someone‑‑moved, and he tensed in panic for an instant. He lifted his head and paled, surprised by the Commander's presence in the huge bed. Trip was under the covers, propped up on one elbow, his forearm beneath Malcolm's shoulders, his other arm around his waist, holding him close to his chest. He must have appeared taken aback by the other man's presence. "Malcolm, are you all right?"

And then it all‑‑from the afternoon at the museum, to dinner atop the hotel, to being kissed at his door, to energetic man-sex with Trip, to his clumsy efforts to sexually satisfy his best friend, to standing panic-stricken before the jet tub, to revealing his past torture, to Trip's impassioned declaration of love‑‑it all exploded within his mind at once. "Was‑‑was any of that real?" he whispered bleakly, blinking rapidly to get something out of his eyes.

Trip merely lowered his head and pressed their mouths together in a sweet, loving kiss. Malcolm was overwhelmed by the tenderness and love in that kiss, and how Trip gently clasped him in an affectionate embrace. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth slightly. He dissolved into Trip's kiss; he became a boneless puddle of soggy desire and gooey love beneath his best friend's soothing reassurance. He passed out from lack of air‑‑er, no, _'became short of breath'_‑‑beneath Trip's leisurely onslaught of deep kisses. The only organ in his body supporting what used to be his skeletal structure was his rigid phallus grinding against Trip's throbbing erection. His best friend wrapped his legs and arms around him and murmured, "Izzat real enough for'ya, deares'?" into his ear, just before he nuzzled and nipped Malcolm's earlobe.

He gasped for breath, "Oh, oh; oh, god; oh, Trip!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.

"Oh, my deares' love!" his best friend whispered; they exploded and sprayed their chests with warm, thick, creamy liquid.

He exhaled unevenly and went limp. Moments later, he regained consciousness and gasped for breath as Trip licked and suckled his hardened nipples. "I'm glad you're awake," his best friend chuckled, "It'd be real embarrassin' havin' to call Phlox to get us outta this predicament."

"Wh‑‑what?"

"Deares', our cream is congealin' an' stickin' us together like I've never seen any men's semen react before. We may have discovered a new epoxy adhesive‑‑tastes pretty good, like pineapple, by the way‑‑but analyzin' the formula is gonna be impossible if we can't get separated. We better get into the tub quick to wash it off."

Malcolm tensed at the mention of the tub. "Wh‑‑what if the water reacts and makes it worse?"

"Then we'd better grab some lubes from the 'ritual supplies' an' a communicator, jus' in case." He loosened his grasp on his dearest love and leaned back. Malcolm was surprised to see strands of viscous, creamy-colored liquid stretch between their muscular, sweaty torsos.

"Per‑‑perhaps we can just wipe it off," he said anxiously, and Trip heard the tremor in his voice.

"Mal, you panickin' at the sight of water has more to it than just Goraveso, doesn' it?" He gently clasped his face in his hands. "I'm your frien', Mal, I'm not gonna say anythin' to anyone. What's the matter?"

"I‑‑I didn't want anyone to know," he replied quietly, "I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't want to lose your respect, or your friendship, and‑‑and I don't want to lose your love‑‑"

"What could be so bad that I wouldn't love you?"

"Aquaphobia," Malcolm whispered.

"What?" Trip shouted, "Why the hell didn' you tell me before?"

"Because of this! Because of your response! What will I do when we have to visit a water planet? I can't stay aboard _Enterprise_ and send my Security personnel where I can't lead them!" He sighed and turned his head away in embarrassment.

"I only responded that way b'cause I was surprised!" Trip said, "You haven' los' my respec'; you haven' lost my frien'ship; ya won' lose my love, unless you don' want me an' my love anymore, an' let's worry about a water planet when we get to one." He saw his lover's anguish. "I'm sorry I blew up at'cha like that, Mal; please forgive me, an' please relax, an' please tell me about your aquaphobia."

Malcolm sighed tensely. "I've always been uncomfortable around water; actually, I've always been afraid of drowning, afraid that I'd sink below the surface, that my lungs would fill with water, that I'd drown, but I can't explain why I feel that way, why I fear drowning." He averted his eyes. "My father, the Royal Navy officer, thought I was cowardly, but I'm not. It took me a long time and a lot of counseling the first time I was at the Academy, and even more counseling after Goraveso to overcome my fears and control my instinctive responses." Malcolm turned his head and closed his mouth and eyes. He tried not to cry, shuddering in Trip's loving embrace.

"Shh, it'll be all right, Mal; hush, deares', please don' be sad," Trip murmured, "Please talk t'me, tell me how I can help you. Please don' be sad, it hurts me t'see ya hurtin' when I don' know how t'help you," he whispered and held him in his arms, It'll be all right, darlin' deares'." Malcolm shook his head and tried to bury his face in the pillow. "Um, Mal, do you‑‑would you please‑‑" he stammered and blushed at the question in his mouth. "Do you‑‑I mean, would you like to take a bath with me? Please?"

Malcolm's head whirled around to pierce his friend's gaze with angry particle cannon beams, and his voice was clipped and anger-filled. "Of all the things I never expected from my best friend, Commander Tucker, I never expected pity!"

"I didn' say it outta pity!" he shouted back, "I said it b'cause you're my bes' friend, an' my deares' love, an' frien's help frien's, an' I wan'ta help you!"

He was stunned by Trip's outburst. "D‑‑do you mean that?" he whispered.

"Which part?"

"That‑‑that you'd help me‑‑because I'm your friend? That‑‑that you think of me as your lover?"

"You're not my lover‑‑" he said; Malcolm paled, but Trip gently cupped his face in one hand, "‑‑You are my deares' love, an' there is no one above you in my heart‑‑" he kissed him softly, "an' I'd move Heav'n an' Earth to be with'ya, stay with'ya, an' yes, of course I'll help you! That's what frien's are for! After all we did in bed earlier, after what I put you through, after what you tol' me tonight, I‑‑I don' think I can live without you, I don' think I want to live without you. I‑‑I want to be the person you come to when you feel doubts, or you feel lonely, or or you have nightmares‑‑"

Malcolm was shocked and stunned, an expression of disbelief on his face. "I‑‑I don't think I've ever had a friend, or a lover, as good, as kind as you."

"That's what love is supposed to be‑‑I love you, an' I care about you, an' I'll care for you‑‑not because you're weak, but because you have a problem you need help to solve, an' I'll help you solve the problem‑‑or I'll do my dam'des' to help you solve it. A bath in a tub is meant to be a pleasant, relaxin', enjoyable occasion, not somethin' that causes a panic attack. Once we get in th' tub, if you still can't relax, then I'll take you out, and we'll use the sink, all right?"

"I‑‑I can do it, Trip," Malcolm replied, "I panic only when I'm surprised; if I know about the tub or pool in advance, I can prepare myself for it."

"I said 'relax'," he repeated, "an' if you can' keep your heart rate an' blood pressure near normal, that ain' 'relaxed' in my book. We'll wash up fast, an' I won' mention it again unless you wan' me to, all right?

"A‑‑all right."

"Here, my darlin' deares' love, I wan'cha to look into my eyes," Trip said, gathered Malcolm into his arms, gently clasped his face in his hands, and brought their faces together, their brows and noses nearly touching.

His dearest love smirked cheekily. "Are you trying to hypnotize me, Mistah Tuckah?"

Trip grinned back. "Maybe I am," he chuckled, "I was goin' to say, 'think happy thoughts,' but do'ya think Phlox can find somethin' about hypnotism in the medical database?"

"Perhaps‑‑oww!" Trip had leaned back, but the thick, viscous liquid clinging to their chests had transformed into a gooey paste sticking them together.

"Dammit, that hurt!"

"Thinking happy thoughts is an understatement, Trip; that really hurt!"

"You're tellin' me!"

"Now what the bloody hell do we do?"

"Hang on tight, 'cause we're headin' for the bathroom!" Malcolm tightened his legs and arms around Trip's body, nearly squeezing the breath out of him, and was whispering unintelligibly. "Mal? Deares', are you okay?"

" 'Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts'‑‑"

"Don' close your eyes or you won' see where we're goin'," Trip said, "I need you to follow my instructions so I don' slip an' fall." Malcolm began panting. "Hey, deares', look at me‑‑" He opened his eyes wide; his fog-blue irises had turned nearly white, and his pupils were dilated as much as possible without medication. "Do'ya know any raunchy songs?"

"I‑‑I do, but I‑‑I can't think of any right now," he was so terrified he couldn't think clearly. Even though Trip told him to keep his eyes opened, Malcolm shut them and hung on to his best friend tightly. He felt him moving his legs off the bed, and his hands and arms circled his narrow backside as he stood and balanced his load. "Sh‑‑should I put my legs down and‑‑and carry my own weight?" he asked anxiously.

Trip had taken two strides, and he leaned against something, taking a deep breath. "Naw, we're almos' there," he replied; Malcolm could hear his voice smiling, "Another two steps an' we're there." He leaned against something else and took a few deep breaths. "Okay, I was wrong, another four steps. We're here, and now we've gotta be careful goin' into the tub." He meant to rub Malcolm's back, but because his hands were gripping the bottom of his tight rear end, Trip stroked his delicate fissure instead.

"Ahh‑‑Trip!"

"Sorry! Listen to me, I'm gonna sit on the floor and go feet-first into the shallow end here," he said, "Then I'm gonna carefully turn around, and you're gonna sit on the floor, too, okay?"

"O‑‑okay."

"There are little hand rails here, but I need to hold them to stay balanced. I need you to scoop up water and rinse this stuff off us before we're stuck solid." He leered cheerfully at his dearest love, "I always wanted you in my life, Mal, but not literally stuck on me!" He got a splash of water in his face in reply. "You have to use both han's to wash this stuff off us."

"Trip, I‑‑I don't think I can " Malcolm stammered hoarsely, still clinging tightly to his best friend.

"Yes, you can you're sellin' yourself short," he replied, "You've been through a lot, and you've overcome a lot of danger an' pain; I know you can overcome this jet-tub with me." He tried a different tactic. "C'mon, you don' wan' to be permanently stuck to me, do'ya?"

"‑‑Actually, that doesn't sound too bad," he murmured and kissed his best friend. Trip's hands still held his tightly muscled rear, and he gently caressed his love's responsive anus again. "Mmm! Mm‑‑mmm!" Malcolm exclaimed, "Ahh‑‑Trip, that's a sensitive spot!"

"Gee, that might be why I'm touchin' it!" he replied, "Do'ya really want Phlox to come down here, b'cause I'm thinkin' he might wanna have us transported up to _Enterprise_ like this, just so he can examine us!"

"You're joking!"

"It's Phlox, Mal; think about it."

"Oh, hell, you're right, he probably would, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah, an' knowin' our luck, you know we'd be seen by someone, an' we'd never live this down. Now, use both han's and rinse it off your chest first‑‑"

"Ouch! Bloody hell, maybe we should market this as a hair removal treatment!" he replied but scooped up a handful of water while he kept his other hand on Trip's shoulder, and then reversed them. He just splashed water onto his chest at first, then his motions became faster until both hands were scooping up water. His hands first brushed against the sticky substance, and then wiped it off his chest, creating a faint amethyst-colored swirl in the tub's turbulent water. When his torso was clean, he began wiping Trip's body, and more amethyst matter eddied in the tub. "Do‑‑do you think it's safe for us to stay in here? Do you think it retains its adhesive properties even after it's been diluted?"

"Maybe, but if we soap up, that might disperse it."

"Where's the soap?"

"Dunno; maybe it's in one of these jars?" Trip asked, gesturing with a nod towards a row of glass bottles in a variety of colors.

"Thanks a lot, Commander!"

"Hey, I need to hang onto these rails so I don' lose my balance! If you weren't squeezin' the breath outta my lungs, I could le'go an' help‑‑ow, dammit, that was uncalled for!" Malcolm had tightened his legs around Trip's waist and squeezed even harder. Trip let go of one rail and splashed him; he let go of both rails and gripped his lover's legs, below and behind his knees.

"Trip, what are you doing?"

"Mal, I love you dearly, but I ain' gonna let you hurt me, even if you are terrified of the water! Now, le'go of my waist, or I'll pull your legs off me!"

"No, Trip, please, don't‑‑" Malcolm replied in a terrified whisper.

"Darlin' deares', you need to help me so I can help you," he said, "I need both my han's to help you, but I don' dare let go with you wrapped aroun' an' squeezin' me like this. If I lose my balance, I could fall and pull you in. If I hit my head on the edge of the tub an' get knocked out, you won' be able to dive in an' save me."

Trip Tucker could not imagine the effect his statement would have on his dearest love. Malcolm slowly untwined his legs from his waist. His skin faded to a washed-out, bloodless white, even paler than when he passed out after love-making. Trip felt Malcolm's muscles oscillating; his entire body quivered in wordless fear. He moved Malcolm's legs until he was sure that his feet rested on the next wide step down. Tears trickled down his face as he struggled to speak; Trip was about to apologize for his insensitivity when Malcolm spoke in a hushed grief- and panic-stricken whisper: "Oh, god, Trip, oh, god; what am I going to do? You're right, you know; I love you more than I love life itself, and what kind of person am I if I can't even rescue my best friend and lover‑‑"

"Mal, deares', I didn' mean it like‑‑"

"It doesn't matter how you meant it!" he shouted hysterically, "What matters is my duty to the crew of _Enterprise_! If I'm frozen in fear when someone's in danger, then I'm not qualified to be aboard the ship! I must be able to respond as if it's my best friend and lover, regardless of who's in danger, or in the water, anyone, from an ordinary crewman to Captain Archer himself!"

"Calm down, Malcolm!" Trip exclaimed and placed his hands on his love's shoulders, but he batted him away. He was not deterred, however, and grasped Malcolm's hands. "You need to calm down an' relax; okay, you're correct, but you're not gonna help yourself right now by gettin' agitated. This ain' the time or place to discuss this, to work on this‑‑"

"‑‑When? When is the time, where is the place to discuss this, to work on this?" he whispered, "As good as I am in every other aspect of my responsibilities, this is one glaring gap in my abilities, and I seriously believe that if Captain Archer knew about my aquaphobia, he would never have picked me for this crew."

"You're wrong, Mal; you're wrong, an' I can prove it. The admirals shot down Jon's request for me to come aboard as Chief Engineer multiple times. He showed 'em that ev'ry candidate they recommended for Engineer wasn' as qualified as me. He insisted that those guys 'n' gals dismantle and reassemble the prototype warp reactor core at the Particle Physics Lab, with only potty breaks and meals‑‑"

"‑‑How long could it have taken them?"

"‑‑Individually, Mal‑‑he had each of 'em go out to the Particle Physics Lab an' take apart the prototype warp reactor core an' put it back together‑‑without a manual, an' only three first-year cadets as assistants. I was the manual when each candidate screwed up reassemblin' it‑‑and he recorded each one, and he made sure the admirals watched the vids, in fast-forward most of the time, but he made 'em watch the point where each of their candidates screwed up and I stepped in to fix their mistakes. No one knew what he was up to, not even me, and I had worked with most of those guys 'n' gals in the Engineerin' program." He gripped his dearest love's hands more firmly. "Jon said he was also questioned about his selection of you for the senior staff. You stayed at the Academy, teachin' martial arts an' marksmanship, an' workin' on your own stuff at R 'n' D in your spare time. The admirals didn' think you had enough real-worl' experience, but Jonny thought you had the experience in what was necessary‑‑tactics, ordnance management, an' security procedures‑‑even though he still thinks he doesn' need 'em."

Malcolm smirked but quickly sobered. "But you still haven't answered my question, Trip; when is the time, where is the place to discuss my aquaphobia, and to work on solving my problem? How am I going to solve this problem in the middle of deep space?"

"We're both engineers, Mal; we know ev'ry nook an' cranny on _Enterprise_; we'll find a spot, draw up plans, an' go to the Cap'n‑‑no, we'll go to Phlox first, b'cause he'll want a swim-in-place tank for physical therapy. An' the Cap'n will want it b'cause he misses swimmin'‑‑"

"‑‑There isn't enough extra space for a pool aboard _Enterprise_, even if Captain Archer wants to play water polo!"

"‑‑I didn't say a pool, I said a swim-in-place tank; Jon misses swimmin' laps. Lots of schools an' private homes have motorized lap pools with currents, an' they aren' big, either; we jus' have to figure out where to put one."

"And where will we get the water from?"

"We don' need to worry about that right now, deares',"

"Why the hell not?"

"B'cause you're sittin' here in the tub, cool as a British cucumber, an' you're arguin' with me," Trip whispered, grinning; he leaned forward, kissed Malcolm deeply, and pulled away slowly. "You can' hang onto me an' have me keep my balance, deares'; just stay put‑‑"

"‑‑I can't do anything else, Trip!"

"Calm down, Mal; relax, breathe slowly and deeply," he murmured, "in through the nose, out through the mouth, relax and breathe. Let's see what's in these jars an' bottles " He picked up jars, uncapped them, and sniffed. He tried a pitcher-like bottle slightly larger than his hand with a cap on top. "What do'ya think this smells like?" he asked Malcolm and then noticed his lover hyperventilating again. "Close your eyes, deares', just for a moment "

"‑‑I want to see you, Trip! Where are you?"

"‑‑I'm still here, right in fron'of'ya. Calm down, deares'; relax, breathe slowly and deeply," he repeated gently, "Whadda'ya think this smells like?" He opened the bottle close to Malcolm's nose and waved it back and forth.

"Liquid soap‑‑"

"‑‑I know that." Malcolm could hear the eye-roll in Trip's voice and smirked.

"Let me smell it again," he said, and reached out for the bottle. It was placed into his hand; he grasped it firmly before Trip released it, and he breathed in the scent again. "It's a Castile-type of soap scented with sandalwood."

"What's Castile?"

"It's a vegetable fat based type of soap," he said, and opened his eyes. Trip appeared confused. "You don't know anything about soap making, do you?" His best friend and lover shook his head. "I'll give you a quick lesson about soap."

"Okay."

"Soap was originally made with rendered animal fat. Modern soaps are made from blends of vegetable fats like palm kernel, coconut, other vegetable oils, and, originally, olive oil‑‑hence the term Castile, for the Spanish region that produces olives and olive oil. Caustic soda, also known as potassium or sodium hydroxide, was mixed with water; it generated chemical heat that had to dissipate before it could be mixed with the fat. Scent oils, herbs, or flowers would be added and blended while the soap was still soft." Malcolm realized that he had calmed while talking and smiled.

Trip's smile lit his face like a rising sun. "You really know this stuff, deares'; how'd you learn it?"

"My mother found her great-great-grandmother's stillroom book which dated from the Regency. A stillroom book was the housewife's or housekeeper's recipe book when a family lived on a farm or manor and grew or made nearly everything they used. Mother insisted that I come home for summer break when I was about seven years old, and Maddy was only a little older‑‑"

"‑‑That must've been an interesting summer."

"The family lived at Portsmouth for a few years," he said, "Father was going up in the ranks, but he wasn't behind a desk all the time yet. He was very busy that year supervising the outfitting of a new class of small minesweeper. When I wasn't with Mother and Maddy, and he wasn't busy with work, he took me to the dockyards‑‑"

"What about your fear of water?"

"Well, I was uncomfortable, but we thought I'd grow out of it. We did do some fun things that summer, just Father and I. I remember that year as the last of my good times with the family," he said, looking pensively at the bottle of soap.

"Mal, I'm sorry! I know you're uncomfortable talkin' about your family; I don' know why, if there's not much to say, or if your memories are painful, but I always seem to keep sayin' an' doin' the wrong things, an' it tears me up to see you upset or in pain, an' it's worse when I cause it," he said, averting his gaze. "I don' mean to hurt you‑‑maybe I should just shut up when we're together."

"Trip‑‑Trip?" Malcolm reached out and hesitantly touched his arm; he lifted his head quickly. "Some of my family memories are painful, but I have a new family on _Enterprise_ who makes me feel accepted and wanted. My painful memories don't hurt quite as much when I'm with you, and we're creating new, happy memories aboard _Enterprise_."

"You have an incredibly beautiful soul, darlin' deares'," Trip whispered, "You have a whole 'nother side only I've seen. You should relax a little and let everyone see the Malcolm I know."

"Are you sure you want that to happen? Everyone will be beating down my door to spend time with me, and I won't have any free time to spend with you."

"Well, now tha'cha put it that way, I bes' not tell anyone just how won'nerful you are, an' keep you all to myself," Trip replied, leaned close, and kissed Malcolm.

‑‑Who spluttered from getting a bowlful of water and a dollop of liquid soap poured over his head. "Trip! If I'm so bloody wonderful, don't surprise me like that!"

"Here, hol' this‑‑" his best friend handed him the bowl, which was actually a large, circular shell, larger than the soup bowls on _Enterprise_, "‑‑an' let me lather you up."

"Ow!"

"What?"

"It's not a no-tear formula!"

"Just close your eyes, an' tip your head back," Trip said, "I can' convince you to go down a step, can I? Then I wouldn't have scoop water so high to rinse you off."

"Let‑‑let me see how deep it is," Malcolm replied anxiously, and lowered one hand into the water to feel the bottom of the step. "It feels odd," he said, "I hope the tiles aren't cracked‑‑"

"‑‑Lemme check," Trip said, put down the soap bottle, and put both hands into the water. "Hmm, I think it's a ledge for stretchin' out, with a seat molded into the tiles, or whatever this stuff is‑‑the step is wide enough for you to sit along it‑‑"

"Ahh! Trip, stop distracting me!" Malcolm exclaimed as his best friend stroked his inner legs and thighs, launching erotic sensations through his body.

"Do you want to try it?"

"Where‑‑where's the edge of the step?"

"I think this one goes all the way around. It feels like there's three more really wide steps that go around the whole tub, an' each is about a foot an' a half apart," he said, "I'll warm the water for you‑‑that'll flush out some of the water in here now."

"O‑‑okay."

Trip adjusted the water temperature slightly, then returned his attention to Malcolm. He moved, touched, and gently stroked his dearest love's legs, arms, tightly muscled bum, and delicate muscle ring.

"‑‑Don't, Trip, please; I‑‑I can't concentrate on the water‑‑" he panted as his best friend settled him into the molded seat on the lower step.

The water came up to his armpits; Trip faced him, and moved between his outstretched legs. He leaned in close, gently pushed him against the tiled side of the tub, and kissed him slowly and deeply. "Don' concentrate on the water," he murmured into his ear, "Concentrate on me‑‑"

"‑‑I can't do anything else, Trip‑‑" Malcolm panted heavily. He felt Trip's rigid phallus grinding against his stiff shaft; he felt the water jets massaging his back when Trip wasn't caressing every sensitive spot on his body; he felt their sensual explosives racing through their bodies: "Oh, god, oh, god, Trip, hold me, please!" he gasped breathlessly.

"Don' go limp, deares'; keep your eyes open an' look at me," he said, "Look at me, Mal!" His head tipped back, but Trip held his face upright with both hands. "Don' go limp on me, you'll slip under the water!"

"‑‑Please hold me," he mumbled, "don't let me go into the water‑‑"

"C'mon, darlin' deares', wake up; you have to hol' onto me!"

"Oh, god, Trip, you drown me every time I‑‑I explode like that," he said faintly.

"That's good, I want you to associate a big tub or a swimmin' pool with good times."

"‑‑I‑‑I lose control, I‑‑I drown in my feelings when‑‑when you make love to me like‑‑like that‑‑ohh‑‑" he sighed. Trip nuzzled his ear and nibbled the sensitive spot on his neck that ignited Malcolm's nervous system, made him dizzy, and inflamed his body. "Oh, please, Trip, please stop‑‑I‑‑I can't breathe‑‑"

"‑‑Mal, are you okay? Do I need to take you outta the tub?"

"‑‑Please, Trip, please don't overwhelm me when you make love to me‑‑" Malcolm mumbled. "Ow! That shampoo is still running into my eyes!"

"Then let me scrub you up an' wash you down; you're okay, deares'." Trip briskly massaged his scalp and rinsed the shampoo from his hair. He wet and soaped a washcloth, concentrated on washing his lover, and murmured kind words to him. "It'll be all right, deares'; please talk t'me, please tell me how I can make it better for you."

Malcolm panted and tried to calm his feelings; he rested his upper arms on the tub's rim. "Do you really want to know?" he asked, his eyes tearing‑‑and it wasn't from the shampoo.

"Yeah, I really wanna know."

"Other persons have made me l‑‑lose control when they wanted me to, not when I wanted to," he said, "I want a‑‑a relationship that moves at a speed with which I feel comfortable," he looked up, "but I think it will be too slow for everyone else, and I'm afraid you'll cut me loose from your‑‑your friendship, and your love, because I‑‑I'm not fast enough‑‑willing enough‑‑for you."

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, I am so sorry; I know I said I'd take it slow, an' I mean it, but I jus' get so excited when you're in my arms that I forget everythin'," Trip murmured softly, stroking his dearest love's sharply angled cheek. "I don' mean to drown ya, or overwhelm ya, or force ya to lose control, or make you feel uncomfortable. I jus' want to give you more pleasure than you've ever received from anybody else, an' I wanna see that sublime bliss an' ecstasy on your face, in your body, when you explode over an' over, b'cus you are so incredibly beautifully han'some, intelligent, talented, an' exceedingly well-trained‑‑an' to have you under me, or on me, or in my arms, just makes me want to kiss you from your toes to your nose‑‑"

Both young men tried to calm their flustered emotions, and Malcolm sighed as Trip caressed his body, then flinched, "‑‑Mistah Tuckah!"

"Yeah, Mistah Reed?"

"I'm starting to pickle!"

"Can' have that, now, can we? Let's finish up, get out, an' dry off."  
*****

Malcolm was exhausted after their bath. He wasn't sure how they became stuck together; perhaps it was some of the Risan foods they had eaten, or the flower petals. His body ached from their vigorous sexual exercise, the stress of his panic attack, and the revelation of his previous encounter with torture. Trip was drained from their frantic love making, the stress of provoking his friend to expose his hidden past, and the physical strain of carrying him to the bathroom. Trip tenderly dried his lover's body without making any sexual touches or innuendoes. "I don't deserve someone as kind as you, you know," Malcolm mumbled, leaning weakly against his best friend.

"Yeah, you do," Trip replied, "I love you, an' I want to look after you, an' that's all that matters." He finished drying his dearest love, even between his toes.

"Would you like me to dry you?"

"I think I air-dried‑‑" he glanced up and saw a disappointed expression on Malcolm's face. "‑‑Okay, I'll get a clean towel for you." Malcolm stayed facing the door to his room while Trip retrieved the towel. When he turned around, his lover was cleaning his ears with fiber swabs in front of the mirror. "Darlin' deares', I have a question for you," he said, standing between Malcolm and his bedroom door, "If you get a near-frozen panic attack from seein' a really deep tub, how did you pass all your Starfleet swimmin' an' divin' tests at the Academy?"

"I knew about them in advance," Malcolm said, "so I could mentally prepare myself for them, although I always panicked during some of the dive scenarios, like the ones when the regulator is knocked out of one's mouth, or the air hose rips or is pulled out‑‑"

"‑‑No one does well on those."

"If I mentally prepare myself, I can swim laps in a normal pool, so I passed those tests, but I don't enjoy swimming as exercise or a hobby. I learned everything about the scuba gear because it's equipment, of course "

"‑‑Of course‑‑" Trip rolled his eyes, and his lover swatted his rear with the towel.

"‑‑I think this tub was worse because it was so unexpected; it's deep, has colors, air jets, and the bubbles obscured the bottom; I‑‑I just panicked." He quieted. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you or anyone else; I‑‑I didn't want anyone to think I was weak‑‑"

"Mal, not knowin' about it made everyone weak," he said, "now that I know, I can look out for you." Malcolm was kneeling, drying his feet; he reached down and pulled him up. "You should tell Doctor Phlox if it's not in your medical file, an' you probably should tell Cap'n Archer‑‑"

"‑‑Do you think he'll reprimand me for not being honest with him, or with Starfleet?"

"You hafta to know by now that the Cap'n's not that kind of man," Trip said, "Luckily, we haven't visited a water planet yet. We'll find a spot for a physical therapy pool, make plans for it, run bunches of simulations on power an' water usage, and convince Phlox and the Cap'n that this is a good idea, from a medical stan'point."

"I'll have to tell you and Captain Archer the whole story after we get back to the ship," Malcolm whispered. "I‑‑I might be in trouble because I've told you‑‑"

"‑‑For what?"

"I can't tell you here," he gestured at the room, "I promise, I will tell you when we return to _Enterprise_‑‑"

"Mal, you're worryin' me with this mystery stuff. Why can't you tell me everything now?"

"Commander Tucker, you can be very dense at times," he replied sharply, "I would have thought that, as a Starfleet officer, you'd know that certain matters can only be discussed aboard a starship!"

Trip was about to object to Malcolm using his rank, then realized his remark suggested that the full details might be a Starfleet matter. "Oh, okay; I think I understand you now."

"T‑‑Trip, if I have nightmares," he whispered, "you w‑‑won't push me away, or‑‑or laugh at me, or‑‑or hit me, w‑‑will you?"

"Gosh, Mal, I'd never hit you!" his lover replied, "I might nudge you a bit if I was sleepin' deep, until I get awake enough to figure out what was goin' on, but if I'm sleepin' light, I'm sure I'll hear an' hol' you like I did earlier tonight! C'mon, let's get back to sleep." He hugged his dearest love and gently led him back to the bedroom. They emotionally comforted each other with kisses and caresses, and fell asleep wrapped around each other.  
*****


	7. The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

TITLE: Two Days... And the First Day of the Rest of Our Lives; 7/8  
AUTHOR: Serit.  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed.

**RATING/S: T+ with explicit sexual language and reference to m/m sex acts.**

WARNING/S: Explicit m/m sex: More warm 'n' fuzzy romance between Trip 'n' Mal!  
GENRE/S: Cultural misunderstandings: aliens have different customs and traditions.  
SUMMARY: The full summary and disclaimer are in Chapter 1.  
**NOTE/S:** Risan words: A _horga'hn_ is an ancient Risan symbol of fertility and _jamaharon_ is a mysterious Risan sexual rite; see TNG, "Captain's Holiday," and the Trek Encyclopedia. I created _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations because I want to mention Kipli (_plikipl'ahn_, get it?) and her beautiful fic "Touch" (M/NC-17) on Warp 5; it's a lovely story, visit and read it!  
**NOTE:** The "Indian scent" I refer to is Nag Champa, and Malcolm's comments are accurate; if you were hip in the 1960s, you'll remember it. Then again, if you were hip in the 60s, you might not remember much!

* * *

A few hours later‑‑not 'later' enough for Trip, it seemed‑‑the day concierge called and woke them, saying he would arrive shortly with the 'ritual skin fondlers' and the traditional _plikipl'ahn_ breakfast in bed. Malcolm was alarmed by the thought of what 'ritual skin fondlers' were or did to one; Trip suggested that he remain calm so they could react quickly if they needed to. They didn't need to react defensively.

The concierge polarized the window wall to block most of the strong morning sunlight. One waiter brought in a cart with a large oval top to serve as a breakfast table for them; its surface was filled with covered platters. A second waiter set up a smaller rectangular cart with induction warmers for oils, lotions, potions, creams, and various other liquids for the 'ritual skin fondlers'. A smaller induction platform was set up on the bedside table on Trip's side of the bed. The 'ritual skin fondlers' were a serene, apparently middle aged Risan husband-and-wife pair of masseurs. "The ritual skin fondlers ask that we uncover the bed for you, honored guests, and recover it for the fondlings," the concierge said precisely.

"Uh, we're not wearin' anythin' under the sheets right now," Trip said, blushing, but the alien masseurs only smiled indulgently. The Risan female 'fondler' smiled reassuringly at Malcolm and extended her hand to him.

"Trip, why don't we just get out for them and find our blues while they do whatever they need to do," he said as he took the Risan's hand and clambered out of bed. The waiters, or general service employees, as it seemed they were, folded back the duvet and blanket, and then removed the two flat and top fitted sheets they had used the previous night. Three additional dry fitted sheets were under the one the employees removed, and two flat sheets remained folded over the blanket and duvet. The concierge placed his translation device on one of the bedside tables and left with the service employees, taking the used sheets with them.

The female Risan 'fondler' examined them, or rather, their genitals. Malcolm had never seen Trip so embarrassed; his enthusiastic lover's whole body was one huge blush, some parts more huge than others. She smiled sweetly and asked, "Are you both the same sex of your species?"

"Yes, ma'am," Malcolm replied timidly, sensing himself blushing hugely. "Are‑‑are those practices forbidden on Risa?"

"Nothing is forbidden on Risa if done in perfect love and in perfect trust," she replied, "Do the balancers‑‑physicians‑‑of your species have the ability to blend your‑‑" her translator squealed, "‑‑materials to create children?"

Trip guessed that her words referred to genetic engineering, "Yes, they do," he replied, "but it's a complicated procedure; we'll decide later when to create our children‑‑"

Malcolm nearly burst into tears. Was Trip just being polite to her, or did he really want to have children with him? He didn't believe that anyone wanted anything of his, not even his genes. "Child‑‑" He looked up in surprise. The Risan woman touched his face, her eyes filled with concern and compassion; it felt like his mother's touch from many years ago, more years than he could remember. "‑‑your _myl'ha_‑‑" she pronounced it 'meel-hah', "‑‑loves you deeply and holds your soul in his heart, as you hold his. Your fears are unfounded‑‑"

"What‑‑what does _myl'ha_ mean?" he asked.

She smiled and was about to reply, when her husband rang tinkling bells from his place on the other side of the bed, "We will begin the ritual skin fondling now," he said, "Please to lay face up next to each other and hold limbs between you."

She spoke sharply to him in Risan and returned her attention to Malcolm. "You are ill at ease; what is it that causes your discomfort?"

"The Human English word 'fondle' has many meanings, including sexual touch," he stammered quietly, avoiding her eyes, "but in this case, I think 'massage' may be a better translation for what you do, unless‑‑unless it is sexual."

"No, this is not 'sexual' fondlings; I will relay this word, 'massage', to the university language department; they program the translation devices. _Myl'ha_ means‑‑" she replied with a mechanical squeal again, "‑‑the soul who holds your soul," she frowned, hindered by the inability to communicate, "It is like the Betazoid word 'imzadi', or the Vulcan 't'hy'la'." She unfolded a silky block-printed scarf, about a metre and a half long and two-thirds of a metre wide, wrapped it under Malcolm's bum, over his genitals and narrow hips, and around his hips again, and her husband wrapped one around Trip. "This is the _fra'ahn horga'hn_, the _horga'hn_ scarf, it ritually protects your personal‑‑" the translator squawked again, "‑‑organs. We have received medical identifications of substances approved and disapproved for you‑‑"

"Uh, even with the translator, that made no sense to me," Trip said, holding Malcolm's right hand with his left.

"They've received a list of chemicals, foods, and flowers to which we can and can't be exposed from Phlox and Chef," Malcolm said.

"May I see your arm?" the Risan masseuse asked him, "I will scan to make sure there will not be any accidents." She ran a flat scanner, shaped like an antique ladies' hand mirror, over his forearm. "Good, we have a selection of scents suggested by your ship doctors‑‑" She passed a decanter cap under Malcolm's and Trip's noses.

"No, that's pineapple, it's a fruit, and I like it very much, but it's a very strong scent and I don't think it would be relaxing in this situation," he said.

"Whoa, what is that? It sort of smells like a rose, but different."

"It's an ancient one. I think it's called a Damascus rose; all hybrids were developed from that original flower."

Trip was holding Malcolm's right hand with his left, and the ritual masseur on his side of the bed leaned over and began loosely lacing and tying a length of indigo blue and claret decorative cord around their joined hands. "Hey, what's this rope-thing?"

"It is the‑‑" he replied, and the translation device squealed; he growled angrily in Risan at his spouse and she replied firmly. He took a deep breath, bowed slightly at the two officers, stepped back from the bed, and began murmuring a chant or prayer.

"My spouse is upset by not being able to communicate easily with you," she said, "This is the _dro'ahn myl'ha_, the string that symbolically ties your souls to each other; there is one that represents your life during the day, and another which represents your life at night. Each of you will keep one to remind you of your _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations here." She opened another bottle of oil. "What is this scent?"

"Gawd, that smells like somethin' Phlox would use in Sickbay!"

"It's lavender," Malcolm replied, "It actually was used in hospitals on Earth for centuries because it has antiseptic properties. By the way, the Roman Legions had supplies of rose and lavender oils for bathing while they were marching or stationed away from Rome."

"Well, that had to have been interesting."

"They didn't use them together, Trip!"

"What is this scent?" the masseuse asked.

"Oh, gosh, Malcolm, what is that, because it smells like you!"

"It's bergamot, a small citrus fruit, and you sometimes smell it on me because it flavors Earl Grey tea," he replied, laughing. "When my mother and sister learned I was posted to _Enterprise_, they sent me a lot of things they thought I'd miss‑‑like Earl Grey tea."

"And this is the last scent on the list that we were able to find," the Risan masseuse said.

"Oh‑‑" Malcolm sighed audibly, closed his eyes, physically relaxed, and sighed again. Emotions crossed his face like streaks of sunlight through swiftly-moving clouds on a sunny day. "‑‑It‑‑it reminds me of temples in Malaysia and India," he whispered.

"Oh, gosh, I remember this; Lizzie was wild about it for a time!" Trip exclaimed, "What is it?"

"It's a blend of sandalwood, plumaria, frangipani, and other Indian scents," he replied, "I think it's the most famous incense in the world, but it's not just an incense it's used in massage oils, soaps, skin lotions, anything that can be scented has been made with this Indian blend, but I don't remember its name."

"Then we will use the one you call 'bergamot' and this 'Indian scent'," the Risan masseuse said. She passed the Indian oil to her spouse, and they set the oils aside. "We will use an unscented oil on your faces, and these oils upon your bodies. Also, we will be chanting ancient prayers to our fertility gods‑‑if your faiths prevent you from hearing the prayers of other deities, we can recite them silently‑‑they are an ancient means of counting time."

"D‑‑do you mind?" Malcolm asked, squeezing Trip's hand.

"No, I don' mind if you don'."

"We‑‑we don't mind if you pray aloud. I‑‑I liked what you said earlier, 'nothing is forbidden on Risa if done in perfect love and in perfect trust.' It's a nice saying; I‑‑I want to remember it."

On Trip's side of the bed, her spouse rang the chimes. "Now we begin; please close your eyes," she said. Malcolm could hear her hands rubbing together, warming the oil. She must have leaned over him, because he could hear her whispering the prayers. He felt first her fingertips, then her hands caressing his face, stroking the tension out of his muscles.

"Why does this oil smell, if it's supposed to be unscented?" Trip asked suspiciously.

"It's almond oil, similar to olive oil, or some of the other fruits with pits, like apricot. It doesn't have much of a scent compared to other oils, and it's used as a carrier for stronger scents."

"Oh."

The Risan masseur rubbing Trip down rang the chimes again. The officers smelled the scents of the bergamot and the Indian oils being poured by the 'ritual skin masseurs'. The tone of the prayers changed, as did the motions and strokes upon their bodies. The masseurs carefully manipulated their muscles and joints, working from neck to navel, continuing from the lower hips to the soles of their feet. Malcolm felt Trip twitch next to him. "What's the matter?"

"Ticklish feet!"

"What is this, 'ticklish'?" the Risan masseuse asked.

"Because Human nerves are sensitive, a light touch on skin can cause a pleasant reaction with laughter," Malcolm explained, "if it's continued for a long time, it can become unpleasant." She spoke quietly to her spouse and Trip stopped twitching.

A moment later, the Risan clasped his free hand, then released it. "We have finished massaging the daylight portion of your lives together," she said, "Please sit up so we may untie the first _dro'ahn myl'ha_, soulmate cord, and turn over, so we may tie the second." The young men sat up, the cord was untied, the masseurs held their _fra'ahn horga'hn_ scarves, as they rolled onto their stomachs. The masseurs replaced their pillows with thick, soft donut-like cushions that supported their necks and allowed them to breathe easily. The Risan masseuse wrapped Malcolm's scarf over his rear and around his hips; her husband did the same with Trip's scarf. The second soulmate cord was tied, although Trip and Malcolm had to fidget a bit to find a comfortable position for their clasped hands and bent arms. The masseurs rang the chimes and poured the bergamot and Indian oils again. The prayers changed, as did the motions and massaging upon their bodies. The masseurs carefully manipulated their muscles and joints, working from neck to waist, continuing from the lower hips to their feet.

The Risan man spoke sourly to his spouse and began packing the massage equipment on Trip's side of the bed. She replied firmly to him and untied the second cord. "Please sit up, and I will finish the last part of this ritual." The young men pulled the _horga'hn_ scarves off their backsides and sat up, using them to cover their privates. The Risan masseuse folded the marine blue and amethyst cord in half, draped it loosely around Malcolm's neck, and tied an elaborate knot. She draped the first cord about Trip's neck and tied it in the same way. "These are the _dro'ahn myl'ha_, soulmate cords, and they symbolically tie your souls together. They encircle each of you, representing your life during the day‑‑" she motioned to Trip, "‑‑and during the night‑‑" she gestured at Malcolm, and then leaned closer to them. She placed one hand on Trip's face and her other on Malcolm's, embracing them at arm's length.

"I feel‑‑no, I know with certainty‑‑that you are good men, and you shall become great men together. You honor Risa by coming here for your _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations, and you will honor your home planet with your actions, now and for years to come." She leaned closer and kissed each man on his forehead, as a mother would. "On this, the last day of your _plikipl'ahn_ celebration, it is customary to wear the _dro'ahn myl'ha_ and the _fra'ahn horga'hn_ over your clothing as a sign of respect for our fertility gods until you have left Risa." She picked up Trip's _horga'hn_ scarf and smiled at his blush, "You should not be ashamed of your bodies; your deities made you in their images, and you are both the children of your gods." She placed the scarf around his neck, tied it in the same way as the cords, and did the same with Malcolm's scarf, and then placed both of her hands on his face again. "We shall pray for your longevity and prosperity. Even though you may not sense it, know that you are deeply loved by your soulmate and your friends," she said and kissed his cheek. "A traditional Risan _plikipl'ahn_ breakfast is here," she added after she released him, "Eating everything on the table to strengthen yourselves is a sign of your fervor for each other," she definitely smiled cheekily at them then. "Peace, longevity, prosperity; may you live together happily for all the days of your lives." The Risan masseurs finished packing their equipment onto the cart and left the suite.

Covered platters filled the surface of the service cart, and the concierge had moved two ice buckets to it. "Boy, I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse 'bout now," Trip said.

"The eating of horses is discouraged, but we can't have you dying of starvation while on shore leave, can we?" Malcolm said, rubbing his hands together, "What exotic delicacies are we presented with now?"

"Lemme grab some of the big pillows for a backrest," Trip said, gently pushing his dearest love down onto the mattress and making a show of clambering over him, pressing and rubbing his body onto Malcolm's until the smaller man poked his fingers into his best friend's ribs, tickling him. "Ah! Oh! Ooh, I get it, Mal!" They stopped "horsin' aroun' " long enough to kiss each other passionately and deeply until Trip finally released his lover and went for the pillows.

Malcolm removed their scarves and cords so they wouldn't become stained with food. The young men covered their laps with a sheet and napkins; Trip pulled the cart closer and swung the top over the bed. They removed the warming lids from the plates, and were surprised by what they held. There were heavily sugared small Risan pastries, and terrestrial and Risan fruits. There were traditional British breakfast foods like terrestrial chicken eggs cooked four ways: kippered eggs, egg and tomato (an egg boiled in a hollowed out tomato), scotch woodcock (which, despite its name, had no poultry in it), and plain boiled (which Malcolm preferred); scones, crumpets, and English muffins with a bowl of freshly curled balls of creamery butter, and bowls of clotted cream, orange marmalade, and strawberry preserves; grilled tomatoes, kippers, sausages, and a fruit trifle with custard. There were also old-style Southern 'Sunday dinner' breakfast foods like eggs over hard and over easy, with Hollandaise sauce on muffins; hominy grits, homemade biscuits and country gravy, hickory smoked bacon and sausage links, catfish fingers with remoulade, homemade fruit cobbler, pecan caramel sticky buns, oranges, and peaches, what Trip said 'folks would come home to after a mornin' in church'.

Fruit juice, water, champagne, and a red, spicy alien alcohol were on the cart with their food. Surprisingly, even though all the plates made it appear as if there were a lot of food, like dinner the previous evening, each serving was just large enough that the men could appreciate the food, but not so generous that they were filled by any one helping. They told stories to each other about the foods served at memorable family gatherings‑‑well, Trip told those, and Malcolm listened in awe because he had nothing similar to compare with them. They dipped the Terran and Risan fruits and fed them to each other. More than a little dip 'spilled' on the young men, and much kissing, licking, and giggling ensued.  
*****

"I still feel like takin' a shower," Trip said, wiggling in bed after they finished breakfast.

"I don't think the massage oils are meant to be washed off," Malcolm replied.

"Okay, what about just wipin' my armpits an' legpits with a washcloth?" Malcolm burst out laughing, rolling back and forth, his hands over his mouth. "What?" Trip asked, confused.

It took a few minutes for his dearest love to settle down and reply, "I've heard it called many things, but 'legpits'?"

"Yeah, well, evolutionarily, we got two armpits, an' we got two legpits."

"I don't think the analogy carries."

"Sure it does. Armpits‑‑" he rolled over and pinned Malcolm beneath his body, fingers prepared to tickle his armpits, "‑‑Sex organs‑‑" Trip swooped down, suckled one of his love's nipples, released him quickly, moved, and caressed his thighs, "‑‑Legpits‑‑" and he was about to mouth his sweet phallus.

"Oh, god, Trip, don't! We'll die from exhaustion and the captain will find us this way!" Trip leered mischievously and ran his tongue around the tip of Malcolm's stiffening erection. "Don't, Trip; oh, god, don't!" He exclaimed even as he thrust his groin up for more contact.

"Ya gotta admit, it's a heavenly way to go. Evolution didn' touch you, darlin' deares', because you are angelic," he stretched out over Malcolm's body and kissed his flushed lips.

Malcolm persuaded him to descend from the heights of arousal and pack to leave the hotel for the spaceport and their return to _Enterprise_. Trip returned to his room just long enough to pack his bag and bring all the things he purchased back to Malcolm's room. They gathered their clothes and accessories scattered amidst the wilting flower petals and thrown onto the furniture. Trip picked up the silky blue shirt he wore to dinner the previous night and frowned. "Well, this looks pretty wrinkly, even to me."

Malcolm looked up and appeared horrified. "Don't tell me you're going to wear one of those gaudy shirts with your suit!"

"Don' tell me you wan' me to wear the suit today!"

"Well, yes," he replied and blushed, "You‑‑you look v‑‑very handsome when y‑‑you're well dressed‑‑" He averted his gaze because he didn't want to see Trip's ridicule.

"Oh." Trip replied softly. Malcolm didn't hear anything else until he felt his best friend's hand gently lift his face and he looked up into love-filled ocean-blue eyes. Trip's smiling mouth pressed his in an appealing, tender kiss. Malcolm was engulfed again by the love flowing through Trip's kiss, and how he gently clasped him in a warm embrace. He calmed, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and melted into Trip's kiss, becoming a boneless puddle of desire with his best friend's comfort wrapped about him. When they finally separated, Trip whispered, "I guess I'm gonna pack up my clothes an' let you dress me up in your love when we get back to San Francisco."

Malcolm appeared unnerved. "Trip, I don't want you to change just to please me!"

"You're not gonna be changin' me that much. Look, I wear a commander's pips, I really should start lookin' the part even when I'm not in uniform," he replied, "an' I know you have really good taste‑‑you picked me, after all‑‑"

"‑‑I could say the same about you‑‑"

"‑‑Not when it comes to clothes," he laughed, "Mal, you ain' wearin' that cashmere sweater today, are you? It's gonna be warm outside, and I was hopin' to get in a little sight-seein' today, since the only sight I was seein' yesterday was you‑‑"

"Very funny," Malcolm replied, "I have another shirt." He unzipped his travel bag and pulled out a silken black shirt that was only slightly less wrinkled than Trip's.

"Call the Front Desk and ask if someone could iron 'em for us."

Their pressed shirts were returned and the officers were dressed, and Trip was about to pack his _horga'hn_ scarf and soulmate cord in his travel bag. "You aren't packing the _dro'ahn myl'ha_ and the _fra'ahn horga'hn_, are you?" Malcolm asked.

"Uh, yeah, I was."

Malcolm had been moved by the masseuse's kind words. "Please, wear them for me, Trip," he said, "The masseuse said it's customary to wear the scarf and cord over our clothing until we've left the planet as a sign of respect for the Risan gods."

"You don' strike me as the kind of person who wears Mardi Gras beads, but if you want me to, then I'll wear 'em for'ya."

"I don't think they're Mardi Gras beads, but we don't want to endanger Risan-Human diplomatic relations, do we?"  
*****

When they exited the lift and reached the lobby to check out, Trip and Malcolm did not expect a grand farewell from the hotel staff that included traditional music and dance performances and symbolic gifts. They received the _lux myl'hahree_, slender, decorated candles to hold, _jamaharon_ flower wreaths like Hawaiian leis, to wear over each man's _horga'hn_ scarf and soulmate cord and Malcolm's wreath was checked so he wasn't allergic to the flowers in it and the primitive carving from the niche above the holoscreen fireplace in Malcolm's room. Trip was given a wooden box containing more pastries, preserved dipped fruits, and a large jar of the dip they 'fed' to each other in bed; Malcolm was given a large wooden box containing two sizeable jars of the 'Indian scent' and bergamot massage oils.

"Risa, Nuvia, Grand Jewel Hotel, our staff, all is pleased and proud that you honored guests from the faraway star have come here to observe your celebrations," the corporate concierge gushed, "May the _horga'hn_ bless you and remember your _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations and keep your sacred _jamaharon_ ever‑‑" the translator squealed with static, "‑‑rigid, plum, and breathless." When he finally realized what the concierge meant, Malcolm appeared mortified and speechless.

The equivalent of a valet parking attendant had a groundcar waiting and helped pack their travel and shopping bags in the trunk. The car was about the size of a taxi, but was also more opulent, like a limousine. "Before you leave Risa, you go to the _Horga'hn_ Temple," he said, tapped the driver's side window, and they pulled away from the curb.

"Trip, what is going on?" Malcolm asked.

"Well, the Cap'n rang a peal over me the night before last, an' Chef chewed me out yesterday mornin', an' I _really_ didn' want you to end up in Sickbay, so I thought it was a good idea to do somethin' cultural. This is just one of those cultural things Chef suggested," he replied, "I mean, we'll see the Risans and all the other galactic tourists at this temple, you know‑‑"

"Did you even take any photos at the Technology Museum?"

"Naw, I was too busy watchin' you bein' happy," Trip replied, grinning sheepishly. Malcolm rolled his eyes, but smiled at him fondly.

They arrived at the magnificent Risan _Horga'hn_ Temple, the largest in the city, and the driver helped them bring their bags into the large foyer, where they were met by an unctuous religious person. "I am Deacon Sumehn, today's‑‑" his translator squealed, "‑‑arranger. Greetings, honored guests from the faraway star," he said and guided them into the forecourt. "You keep the _fra'ahn horga'hn_, horga'hn scarves, _dro'ahn myl'ha_, soulmate cords on, wear fertile flowers, and hold the candles of devotion. All other things will be stored safely here," he opened a wide locker for their travel bags, museum purchases, and other packages, and then gave Trip the key. "You will be next at the central altar."

"Altar? Did he just say 'altar'? Are we some kind of sacrifice?" Malcolm squeaked.

"Oh, no, I think it's a lot worse than that," Trip replied, "Remember when I said I didn't think the hotel staff thought we were dignitaries?"

"Yes, why?"

"I think all the suites on the penthouse level are honeymoon suites."

"We aren't married!" Malcolm's eyes couldn't get any wider. "Did we get married when we were massaged?"

"No, but I think these folks celebrate the honeymoon before the weddin'," Trip replied, "to make sure the partners are compatible." Malcolm looked stunned when he realized the enormity of their situation. Trip appeared concerned. "Are you okay?"

"‑‑N‑‑no‑‑"

"Malcolm, my darlin' deares' love of my life, do you love me?"

"‑‑Yes! Of course I love you! I love you more than life itself!" he exclaimed.

"Do you love me enough to marry me?"

Malcolm's eyes were wide open in surprise; his fog-blue irises were nearly iridescent white, and his pupils were dilated as much as humanly possible without medication. His mouth dropped open in shock and his arms fell to his sides. Tears and disbelief filled his eyes, and his mouth moved soundlessly for a minute until he said, "Are are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious about anythin' or anybody in all my life," Trip said quietly.

Malcolm appeared stunned, overwhelmed, and panic-stricken. "No‑‑no one‑‑no one h‑‑has ever‑‑"

"‑‑I think I love you more than anybody else‑‑"

"‑‑No‑‑no one else has ever w‑‑wanted me enough to want me to stay with them‑‑"

"I want you enough to stay with me for forever, if you'll have me," Trip whispered.

"D‑‑do you seriously want me? Is this a joke? Are you lying?"

"Yes, I seriously want you, Mal. No, it's not a joke, and no, I ain' gonna lie about somethin' as important as the rest of our lives together, deares'," he said patiently and placed a shaking hand on his dearest love's cheek. "Do you love me‑‑do you trust me‑‑enough to marry me? B'cause if you're not ready now, then I'll wait until you are, for as long as it takes you to get ready."

Malcolm nearly burst into tears. "Yes, Trip, I love you, I trust you enough to marry you, here and now," he mumbled.

Both officers became nervous as they stood in front of the central altar. Two officiants‑‑a male and a female Risan‑‑stood before them. The female stepped back, gestured towards a curtained area, and another male Risan officiant joined the first. They spoke Risan, and their translation device began emitting something that sounded like a marriage rite. "‑‑Oh, shoot‑‑details, details! Please, please, excuse us," Trip said loudly, "we're unfamiliar with your rites. Deacon Sumehn? Deacon, where are you?"

"Honored guests, is there a problem?"

"We don't mean to offend the priests, priestesses, or the other participants here, but I must speak privately with my _myl'ha_. We shared personal matters during our _plikipl'ahn_ celebrations, but there are details I've overlooked, and we must discuss them now."

"Say no more," Sumehn said, "You wish some time, we understand; I will speak with the‑‑" more static from another translation device. He went to speak with the officiants, returned, and guided Trip and Malcolm to a large tiled circle on the ancient stone floor.

"I‑‑we need to put these candles down for a moment‑‑"

"‑‑Do you wish to cancel the ceremony, honored guests?"

"No, not cancel it, pause it," Trip replied, "A lot of cultures within our race use their han's to gesture an' emphasize things; I guess Humans aren' used to holdin' things for long periods of time when they have to do other things as well." He noticed meter-tall metal stands being brought to the adjacent altar. "What about usin' one of those little stan's? Do they have a purpose?"

"Those are consecrated for funerals!"

"Well, do'ya have any that haven't been consecrated for funerals?" he asked in annoyance. Sumehn gestured to another Temple functionary and whispered to him. "I forgot a lotta details, an' we don' have time to go to our ship an' get what we need before we gotta leave Risa, so we have to find what we need on the spot," he told the deacon.

"‑‑What‑‑what are you doing, sir?" Malcolm whispered coolly; he had noticed the stares of the Risans and other aliens in the Temple upon them, and they made him uncomfortable.

Trip spun around quickly to face him. "Do you remember what I tol' you las' night?" he asked sharply.

"You said many things to me last night, Commander."

"Yeah, well, one of the many things I tol' you, deares', is that I never again wanna hear you call me 'Commander' or 'sir' when we're off-duty!" He grasped Malcolm's shoulders and mashed his lips upon the slender man's mouth. When their lips parted, Malcolm appeared as if he had been pole-axed and didn't know enough to fall to the tiled floor.

Sumehn's assistant returned with one of the stands, except it looked much cleaner than one next to the funeral altar. The priestess came forward with two attendants: one who held open a book for her, and a second who swung a metal censer, smoky fumes puffing out as it swayed over the stand. She murmured words from the book, her hands above the stand's top, and her assistant tapped the censer, ashes falling onto its top. The ashes were swept into the book with its stiff bookmark; Malcolm shuddered, dirtying a book was anathema to him. The priestess draped an orangey-red cloth over the top, and then she and her attendants stepped back, looking expectantly at Trip. He gently took Malcolm's candle from his clenched, sweaty hand and placed it, with his, on the cloth-covered stand; he then took out a clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket, dried his friend's sweaty palms, and kissed each when he was done. "Honored guest, what other things do you need?" Sumehn asked solicitously.

"The most important thing in a Human weddin' is the exchangin' of rings," Trip replied, then explained, "In mos' Human cultures, exchangin' rings is a symbol of the union, an' precious metals are used to show how important an', um, emotionally valuable the marriage is‑‑"

"Trip, we don't have any rings or precious metals with us," Malcolm reminded him, "And I have the feeling that, if we leave without conducting the ceremony, we won't be allowed back."

"Yeah, I think you're right," he admitted thoughtfully, then looked to Sumehn. "If we leave the temple to find a jewelry store, we won't be allowed back to the altar, right?"

"That is correct," the Risan priestess said with a strong accent.

"But may I be allowed to leave this circle, go to our locker, and bring things back here?"

"Did you not know these things would be needed?" Sumehn asked in confusion.

"Humans aren't very logical at our best," Malcolm interjected, "and we forget minor details because we're focusing on the whole situation. I think my belov‑‑" he paused and that pole-axed appearance crept over his features again, "‑‑Trip, did you call me your _myl'ha_?"

"Yeah‑‑I'd've thought you'd've figured that out by now, deares'."

"I didn't think you were paying attention."

"When we're together an' someone's talkin' to you, deares', one part of me is always listenin'," he replied. "I have to go to our locker. I know exactly what we c'n make our rings from; you got any engineerin' backgroun', Mal?"

"I'll have you know that I'm a better engineer than you are an Armoury Officer, Commander Tucker," Malcolm sniffed haughtily, but smirked impishly.

"I know, 'Loo-tenant,' an' I wouldn' change anything abou'cha," he replied, kissed his love again, and left the circle with Sumehn trailing behind him. He returned a minute later with two communicators, a general-purpose scanner, the universal translator, and a small toolkit. "Here, get these opened up," he told Malcolm as he began unscrewing the back cover of a device.

"Let's try to save one communicator in case we need it, and the universal translator," his friend said as he reached for a screwdriver.

A few minutes later, Trip wove three wires‑‑yellow gold, platinum, and palladium‑‑into a braid, fitted it onto Malcolm's finger, cold-soldered the ends atop the knuckle of his love's third finger of his left hand, and slid it down. "How does that feel, deares'? Too tight, too loose, any metal snags I should melt down?"

"It‑‑it's wonderful, Trip, it's perfect‑‑there's nothing wrong with it," he replied, turning it around his finger, "I don't think we'll be able to wear them whilst on duty, though safety protocols‑‑"

"We'll get chains to wear under our uniforms."

"I‑‑I wouldn't want to lose it somewhere in the ship or when we're on a landing party‑‑this‑‑you‑‑are so very precious to me‑‑"

"We'll work it out, deares'."

With that, Malcolm examined the remaining wires of precious metals that came from the scanner and translator. He soldered two short platinum lengths to make one long one, and repeated the action with the last of the yellow gold. He had Trip hold two screwdrivers so he could fold and weave the wires together in an intricate Celtic braid pattern, fitted the ring to his finger, and cold-soldered the ends together. "H‑‑how does that feel, Trip?" he stammered.

"It feels great," he said, and Malcolm lifted his head to gaze at his best friend and lover. Trip was smiling like the sun rising, and Malcolm felt that his heart would explode from happiness.

The Risan priestess stepped forward and asked, "Are you both ready to proceed with the ceremony? Whatever your vows are, you must speak them each to the other, and say your name and your _myl'ha_'s name, for this ceremony to be legal." Malcolm and Trip looked at each other and nodded simultaneously.

Moments later, they both stood before the altar, awe-struck and tongue-tied again. Trip gently cupped Malcolm's face in his hands and kissed him slowly, deeply, and lovingly. He then surprised his best friend and everyone else in the temple‑‑himself not the least‑‑and he knelt before Malcolm as the younger man held their candles and tried not to weep. "Malcolm, you are my deares' love, an' there is no one above you in my heart. I'd move Heav'n an' Earth to be with you, stay with you, an' I don' think anyone else has ever made me feel what I feel when I'm with you. I love you dearly, I love you completely, an' I want you in my life, for as long as we both shall live, for as long as you drive me nuts aboard _Enterprise_ an' wherever else we go," he murmured and placed his hands on Malcolm's narrow hips. "I want to be the person you come to when you feel doubts, or you feel lonely, or you have nightmares. I want you to look into my eyes ev'ry mornin' to see the love I feel for you when we wake up, an' I want you to look into my eyes ev'ry night to see the love I feel for you b'fore we go to sleep. I want you to be happy every day of our lives, an' I will be very happy to be beside you every day of our lives. I am jus' so happy to be kneelin' in front of you like a grinnin' idiot to ask you, Malcolm Reed, will you please do me the great honor an' pleasure of becomin' my legally wedded husband?"

When it was his turn to speak, Malcolm gasped for breath and words. "Trip, how can you love me? How can you want me, knowing what you know about me? I'm selfish, I'm demanding, I'm pathetic, I'm worthless, I'm sick, I feel filthy‑‑" his eyes were fear- and tear-filled. "I'm frightened and I'm lonely, and I've wanted to love you since I met you, but I felt sick and immoral pining for you. I'd wished I could tell you about my desire, and I hoped I might receive a little understanding or even some kindness from you," he whispered, "but I vowed I'd never say anything because I was afraid you'd beat or laugh at me for expressing my pathetic feelings." He moved to kneel, but Trip grasped his arms and stopped him. "You're the one person closest to being my friend in my adult life; I don't know how to keep your friendship, but it's the most precious intangible I possess, and you are the one most precious person in my life. I'm afraid because I don't know when you'll throw me away, and I can't understand why you haven't cut me loose from your friendship long before this."

"I will never throw you away, or cut you from my friendship, an' I'll stay with you forever, if you want me for forever, because a lover is someone who knows everythin' about you and loves you anyway," Trip replied, smiling. The two men gazed at each other as Malcolm tried to understand the depth of Trip's words. "An' I want you because workin' with you, spendin' my free time with you, and especially kissin' you, all make a warm spot in my tummy."

"Are you sure that's not indigestion from Chef's meatloaf?" his best friend asked archly.

He shrugged, the rascal‑‑he shrugged! "Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Trip said. "I, Charles Anthony Tucker the Third, love you, Malcolm Stuart Reed, an' with this ring I thee wed," he said, tugged the ring off Malcolm's finger, and then he slipped it back onto his dearest love's finger. "This gold an' platinum an' palladium I thee give; with my soul I worship thy soul; with my body, an' m'lips, an' m'mouth, an' m'tongue, an' all of m'body, I thee worship‑‑"

"What?"

"‑‑An' with all my worldly goods I thee endow‑‑" he looked to see if anyone was watching them closely, pointedly ignored the two Risan priests, then tugged the waistband of Malcolm's trousers down an inch or so with one hand, pushed up his shirt with the other, and kissed his inward-dimpled navel on his muscular torso.

"What the hell are you doing? We're in an alien temple! A public alien temple!" he whispered frantically.

"‑‑Yeah, but your body is a temple, a divine creation all its own, an' I love worshippin' at your altar," Trip replied, smiling. "I want to worship your sacred body with my mouth, my lips‑‑" he whispered, rested his head against Malcolm's rippled abdominal muscles, and held his friend's narrow hips.

"For heaven's sake, Trip, if you're going to torment me like this, let's do it back at the hotel, or on _Enterprise_, but not here in public!"

"Wha‑‑what did you say?"

"I said, if you're going to torment me to the point of nearly exploding and then stop for no good reason, we can do that in a hotel room or someplace private on _Enterprise_!" Malcolm grabbed an ear with one hand and painfully pinched Trip's shoulder with his other.

He shot up like a rocket because having one's nerves pinched could cause that. "Ow! Ya don' hafta ask twice!"

"Let me say the words and finish this!" he said and looked, really looked, into Trip's face, and finally understood what Trip felt for him, how he felt about him, and the magnitude of his best friend's love for him‑‑and he was speechless. Trip was still smiling at him like a "grinnin' idiot" with love, tears, and sunlight shining from his eyes. Malcolm Reed inhaled deeply, discovered that he was suddenly calm, and spoke. "I, Malcolm Stuart Reed, love you, Charles Anthony Tucker the Third; I think I've loved you since the moment I met you," he whispered, "With this ring I thee wed; this gold and platinum I thee give; you are my best friend, but I don't know how to keep your friendship. With my soul I worship thy soul; with my body I worship thy body; and I don't know what I would do if you don't want a committed relationship with me, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow," he pulled the ring off Trip's finger, slid it back onto his best friend's third finger of his left hand, and lowered his head.

A gentle hand slipped under his chin and raised his head; Trip stood before him and kissed him‑‑and the flash of a camera went off, making stars‑‑not the kind he wanted to see‑‑before his eyes. Trip wrapped one arm about his neck, his other in the curve of his back, and Malcolm threw his 'reticence' out of the figurative window. Moments later, they separated.

Sumehn held Trip's antique digital camera and was snapping photos. Lowering the camera, he said, "Please to come to sign for us the‑‑" he gestured towards an alcove as his translator squawked, "‑‑book. Do you have‑‑" another whine from the device, "‑‑to show your identity?"

"Huh?"

"We have to prove that we're us, love, they need to see our Starfleet identity cards," Malcolm said, withdrew a thin metal wallet, and pulled out his Starfleet personnel card.

Sumehn looked at it, then turned to the priestess who consecrated the stand. "Many pardons, great lady; what do they do?"

"The same as we‑‑ they write their names here, and their residence‑‑"

"Does that mean the starship we're on?" Trip asked.

"Yes, and sign again here, and here," she said, pointing at the lines. After each man signed, she moved the book aside on the altar-like table and withdrew a woven paper scroll from a capped tube, "You also sign this, here and here, and it is countersigned by the priests who performed your ceremony."

"Wh‑‑what does this say?"

"This is the‑‑" more static came from her translation device, "‑‑of the Ancient _Horga'hn_, uniting you in sacred _jamaharon_ for all your lives together, until you are reunited in‑‑" The translation device squealed again.

"A‑‑are you saying that this is a‑‑a marriage certificate? Is this a‑‑a legal document?" Malcolm asked in a whisper.

"Yes, yes, this is proof that you are married by the gods of Risa, verified by the Council of Nuvia and the Premiers of Risa," the priestess replied.

"What does it say?"

"T‑‑Trip, w‑‑we're‑‑we're‑‑" Malcolm stammered.

"One of our university linguists has translated it into your language," she answered and pulled out a second sheet of paper, similar to the certificate.

"Yeah, darlin' deares', we're married, forever an' for always," Trip said, then turned to glance at the officiants. "Sumehn, let's get a shot of us with the priests‑‑unless that is not permitted?" Trip asked. _He couldn't have become culturally aware by having sex‑‑making love‑‑with me, could he?_ Malcolm thought in surprise.

"Most participants do not take images within the Temple," another voice said, "But it is not forbidden in our scriptures." They turned, and the Risan ritual masseuse was standing next to the two priests.

Malcolm gasped happily. "Did you come to see us get married? I'm very pleased that you're here," he blushed and dipped his head awkwardly, "You and your companion didn't tell us your names at the hotel."

"We are based in the Temple," she replied, smiling serenely at him, "I am Lati'ahn, and my spouse is Danehn; new languages come slowly to him. No, I did not come to see you marry specifically‑‑" she said, "‑‑but I am very glad I was here to see both of your say your most heartfelt words each to the other." And Sumehn snapped an image of Trip, Malcolm, and Lati'ahn appearing rather motherly in her traditional Risan clothing.  
*****


	8. Tonight's Gonna Be A Great, Great Night

TITLE: Two Days... "And Tonight's Gonna Be A Great, Great Night"; 8/10  
AUTHOR: Serit.  
PAIRING/S: Tucker/Reed.  
RATING/S: T+ (or M).  
WARNING/S: gossipy infodump ahead!  
GENRE/S: Romance; honeymoon euphoria, and Malcolm's paranoid panic.  
SUMMARY: Begins as "Two Days and Two Nights," goes AU in the cellar, gets repaired, then there's angst, and then romance. NOTE/S: (1) I don't know when I'll post the next chapter/s to this, but there's two or three more chapters to come; (2) If you read carefully, crewmembers other than those mentioned in the series are either named after my friends or noted science fiction writers.

* * *

When Customs personnel at the spaceport saw Trip and Malcolm's nuptial trappings, they were escorted to the front of the line, much to Malcolm's embarrassment. Murmured best wishes and congratulations from the many Risans and aliens in the Customs line were awkward for the lean and compact officer to accept, although Trip cheerfully thanked everyone for their compliments. Their Starfleet travel bags, and family and crew gift items were scanned before all of the other passengers' luggage. A Risan skycap with a hand-cart transported their things to the shuttlepod, and passed them to Malcolm, who carefully packed everything. They stayed aboard the 'pod, waiting for Archer and Hoshi to clear Customs. They felt they were still on their honeymoon, and didn't run the pre-flight checklist, leaving it for the captain, who complained he didn't get to fly the pods often enough. Malcolm laid their extinguished candles on a seat; they necked passionately, and would have appeared quite unprofessional if anyone saw them. They then heard Archer's rich voice asking Hoshi questions, missing her quiet answers, but heard his deep chuckles. Malcolm immediately moved off Trip's lap, but he laughed, "There ain' no way you're gonna hide that blush, Mal; you're probably gonna be blushin' for a month."

"I should hope I can hide it!" his husband hissed in a whisper.

"I just hope I don't have to contact T'Pol to scan the planet for Trip and Malcolm!" Archer said outside the shuttlepod; Trip and Malcolm stood and straightened their clothes. "Wait a minute, why is this hatch open?" He poked his head in suspiciously and was taken aback to see them already in the vehicle. Porthos, for his part, bounded in and happily danced around the two men; Malcolm leaned down and petted the dog. "For once, I don't have to send search parties out for you!" the captain chuckled, placed his bag by their packages, and headed for the control console.

Hoshi boarded the shuttlepod last, and her witty comment about the delayed officers died on her lips. She was surprised to see Trip and Mal in civilian clothes, with their hair adorably mussed up. They wore _fra'ahn horga'hn_, horga'hn scarves, _dro'ahn myl'ha_, soulmate cords, _jamaharon_ flower wreaths; Malcolm stood and turned from Porthos to slip the officers' _lux myl'hahree_, candles of devotion, into the envelope he'd been given when they received them, and put them away in his travel bag. It hit her: "Did you two get married?!" she squealed in shock.

"Uh‑‑yes, yes, we did," Trip replied and glanced at Malcolm, who had paled and seemed ready to faint or throw up, or both at once. He put his arm about his love's shoulders and squeezed him gently. "Hoshi, don't go spreadin' it aroun' the whole ship; Mal's still in shock."

Jonathan Archer turned around in the pilot's seat and tried not to grin. When he saw Reed's troubled expression, he smiled sympathetically and tried to make that emotion shine through his eyes as well, so his skittish Armoury Officer would know he approved. "It's all right, Malcolm; I don't have any objections to relationships aboard _Enterprise_, unless you were coerced by Trip‑‑he can be pretty persuasive at times."

"Sir, Commander Tucker would never force me to do anything against my will!" Malcolm exclaimed, but he was still pale and appeared uncomfortable. "Will‑‑will Starfleet consider a‑‑a planetary marriage legally binding?"

"Only if it's formalized by a Starfleet official‑‑like the captain of a starship, perhaps?" Archer appeared to be eager to pull out the time-honored _Ceremonies_ _for Sea_ _and Space Captains_.

Trip appeared concerned by Malcolm's question. His love appeared to be on the verge of tears. "Trip, you might want to think again about marrying me aboard _Enterprise_, especially after what I have to tell y‑‑you and the Captain. I‑‑I might get into trouble because I've told you‑‑"

"Why? I don' un'erstan'‑‑"

"Why don't you both join me in the Captain's Mess for dinner when we get back to the ship," Archer said cheerfully, "We can celebrate."

"Thank you very much, sir, but perhaps tomorrow evening," he whispered hoarsely, "M‑‑may I please request a meeting in your Ready Room for tomorrow morning with you, Commander Tucker, Doctor Phlox, and myself?"

"How about breakfast in the Captain's Mess at oh-seven-hundred hours?"

"This‑‑this is official Starfleet business, sir; I‑‑I'd prefer it held in your Ready Room." By this point, Malcolm's eyes were tear-filled, and Trip hugged him tightly, setting his dearest love's head on his shoulder.

"Ensign Sato, you are not to make any announcements, official or otherwise, until I have conferred with Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed tomorrow," Archer said, "Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Hoshi was insulted by Captain Archer's assumption that she would gossip about Trip and Malcolm. Well, she probably would have spread the news that they returned weighed down with Risan wedding regalia. The two most beautifully handsome officers on the ship appeared endearingly disheveled, their hairstyles charmingly tousled, their lips adorably kiss-swollen‑‑and they were married‑‑to each other!  
*****

Once aboard _Enterprise_, Archer, Tucker, and Reed stowed their gear (and dog) in their cabins and attended to their respective departments. "Good evening, Cap'n," Chef said genially as he brought Archer's dinner into the Captain's Mess, a huge smile plastered on his face.

"That grin doesn't bode well for me, Guillame," Archer said, "What have you been up to this weekend?"

"Who, _moi_? Nothing, I have done nothing this weekend," the ship's chef replied and laughed. "You do know that everyone has been complaining about Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed since shortly after we left Space Dock, don't you? Those boys have been behaving like two lovesick puppies‑‑excuse me, sir, but not even Porthos would carry on so sensationally‑‑"

"What did you do?!"

"I merely sped up the course of true love‑‑"

"Is that why Trip and Malcolm returned from Risa married to each other?!"

"Sort of!" Chef sat next to Archer, something he would never do ordinarily. "Jonathan, those young men have been carrying on so emotionally, so dramatically, that I'm sure your Vulcan iceberg would have mentioned it to you sooner or later, probably sooner. They argue as if they're already married, and everyone knows it," he chuckled, then became serious. "You know, I don't tell you how to run your ship, and you don't tell me how to run the Galley, except to suggest menus, which I throw out, but I am going to give you this piece of advice: energy and weapons are two sides of the same coin. You aren't going to have a warp engine if you don't have strong weapons, and strong weapons need a powerful warp engine to function. Aliens are not Humans, Jon; do not expect them to think or behave like Humans, or your optimism will get this garbage scow blown out of the space she's sailin' through. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's just the way I see it."

"That's your opinion and you have the right to express it. To be honest, I've been hearing it more frequently, and not just from Malcolm."

"Well, I have to get back into the Galley, or those raw-nosed recruits will have all my pots busted up," Chef said, standing. He gazed pensively out of the large, rectangular porthole before turning to Archer and speaking again. "Didn't you put in a commendation request for Lieutenant Reed a month or so ago, when you were dealing with that alien mystery ship? Did you ever hear anything about it?"

"No, I haven't," Archer replied, "I just assumed it was under a pile of paperwork, but I'll ask what Admiral Forrest will do for Malcolm‑‑he's done a lot for the ship and our mission, and he's already had some serious injuries defending us."  
*****

Archer returned to his cabin and played with Porthos briefly. "C'mon, boy, I have to call Earth; I'm sure there's someone on the Bridge who'll play with you." He snapped the leash on his dog's collar and grabbed a thick rope tug-o-war dog toy.

The man and his dog walked off the turbo-lift; the Armoury crewman at the Tactical console immediately stood and announced, "Captain on the Bridge!"

Archer rolled his eyes and glanced at the Beta shift personnel. "At ease, everyone; as you were, Ensign Sheen," he told the over-eager Armoury crewmember. He then held up the rope dog toy and asked, "Would someone like to babysit a cute little doggie?"

Five voices replied enthusiastically, "Yes, sir!" and Archer laughed. "Lieutenant Commander, you'll decide who plays with Porthos first."

Lieutenant Commander O'Neill smiled, "Rank has its privileges, sir; I get to play with Porthos first," she rose from the command chair and turned toward the Sciences station. "Lieutenant Hunter, you have the conn."

Archer handed Porthos's leash and the toy to her, and turned to the Comm console, "Crewman Sargent, please put a call through to Admiral Forrest's office at Starfleet," he said and entered his Ready Room. He was at his desk when he explained, via sub-space radio, why he was calling the Admiral. "I've sent three requests for commendations for Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, my Armoury Officer, and a request for promotion to Lieutenant Commander for him, but I haven't received decisions on any of them from your office."

"I don't think I've seen any personnel forms from you since _Enterprise_ left Space Dock," Forrest replied.

"Let me resend them to you," Archer said, "My copies will have the original date stamps of their receipt by the automatic system at Starfleet Command."

As each form was received at his desk, Admiral Forrest copied it onto a datachip and noted the original send date and posted time of arrival at Starfleet Command. "Give me a moment to track these in the system and find out why they weren't forwarded to me," he said, and punched in the access codes on his keyboard. Minutes later, he looked up at Archer. "Those four forms were deleted almost as soon as the system received them," he said, "It's as if they were never here. I seriously doubt these will be on the system tomorrow, and no one would believe me that they were if I didn't just put them onto a datachip. Jon, I'll have my office investigate this."

"Max, hold off doing anything for a day or two," Archer said quickly, "I believe I have a different means to look into this that won't be traced back to your office. I might be paranoid, but sending one of your people could be dangerous. If I don't get any results, I'll call you back."

"Well, have your friends be careful; Starfleet out."  
*****

After the call ended, Archer pressed a few keys on his desk to locate Sub-Commander T'Pol; she was in her quarters, naturally. When he emerged onto the Bridge, Lieutenant Hunter was playing tag with Porthos around the briefing table. "I'm sorry the rest of you didn't get the chance to play with Porthos," he said as he collected his dog and now-slimy rope.

"Don't worry, Captain; I'll make sure that Laveau and Sheen get their chance the next time you come up in the evening," O'Neill said.

"Thanks, have a quiet evening, everyone." Archer returned to his quarters, filled his dog's water bowl, and sniffed. He'd better wash up, or change his clothes at least, or his Vulcan First Officer probably would be offended by his pungent odor. He stripped, threw everything down the chute, grabbed a clean bath towel and went into the shower. Five minutes later, he was clean, dry, and unscented. Porthos was curled up at the foot of his bed, asleep, snuffling little doggie snores. Archer opened his closet and wondered what he could wear that didn't smell like his dog. That's right; he had pulled out two pairs of clean trousers that he didn't pack and had returned them to his closet before he left for Risa. He took out the more relaxed, lighter-colored linen trousers, the light jade green shirt that Erika said highlighted his eyes, and dressed quickly. He grabbed a clean pair of loafers and sprayed the soles with odor neutralizer, looked around his cabin, left the light over his bed on for Porthos, switched the others off, and exited.

He should have carried a datapadd, or the writings of Surak that T'Pol had bought for him. Archer felt uncomfortable standing outside his First Officer's cabin with nothing in his hands. He pressed the door chime, but heard nothing until the door slid open, surprising him. "Ah, good evening, Sub-Commander T'Pol," he stammered.

"Captain Archer, good evening," she replied, and he was amazed to see her wearing a stunning set of coral Triaxian silk pajamas, and she was barefoot. "Please come in. What did you wish to see me about?" He noticed the smell of natural-fiber wicking and beeswax‑‑T'Pol must have been meditating when he disturbed her. He entered her small and sparsely-decorated cabin, reluctant to shatter the fragile truce‑‑and trust‑‑they had developed. "I was about to make some tea; would you like some?"

"Ah, yes, thank you, that will be fine."

"Would you prefer to sit at the desk, or at my meditation table?"

"I'll be fine at your meditation table."

Moments later, he was kneeling opposite T'Pol at her low meditation table, a cup of herbal tea before him. "Ensign Sato suggested this ginger blend when I eat pasta dishes," she said impassively, "but I'm sure that you've come for other reasons."

"Remind me to ask Commander Tucker about a means of safely installing additional chairs in the command staff's cabins," Archer said, "for times when they need to work on ship's business with personnel outside of their departments."

"Lieutenant Reed will be disappointed that you have not reviewed his plan to allow officers to keep phase pistols in their quarters," T'Pol remarked coolly. "Is that all you came to tell me?"

"No, it isn't, and yes, I'll examine Malcolm's plan soon," he said, "I don't want to offend you, and I'm certain I will, but I suspect you may have a method of contacting the Vulcan Legation in San Francisco which is not routed through our communications network. Do you have an unauthorized sub-space radio?"

"If you think I've been relaying what you and the command staff have been saying in your Ready Room or on the Bridge to the High Command, you are mistaken," she replied stiffly.

"That wasn't my question: do you have a communications device here in your quarters?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Something odd has happened to documents I filed with Starfleet; it's unusual, and I don't want to endanger anyone in Admiral Forrest's office," Archer explained, "I want to talk with Ambassador Soval and request his assistance‑‑but I don't want to endanger anyone in the Vulcan Legation, either."

"Please excuse me for a moment," T'Pol said, "I will bring my device to you." She rose gracefully and stalked slinkily to a low cupboard of Vulcan manufacture. It had two doors and shelves within, and she returned a moment later with a thin rectangular wooden box. "Please sit next to me; you will be able to see better. This is an ancient game, similar to Backgammon or Go on Earth," she said, raised the lid, and exposed a decorated playing surface of inlaid wood and gemstones. She closed the lid again. "It is also a sub-space radio." She opened the lid again; Archer guessed there was a hidden switch that controlled access to the two levels. "Attempting to force the radio open will result in small vials of acid being broken, and both the device and game will be destroyed."

"I have no interest in destroying something so‑‑aesthetically pleasing," Archer replied, "You should let someone else know how to open it, in case you're incapacitated and we must contact the Legation."

"Of course. I will make arrangements with two persons on the command staff, in case someone besides myself becomes incapacitated," she said coolly, "If you don't mind, I will call the Legation now."

"Of course."

Sub-Commander T'Pol behaved as if she were as cool as a cucumber‑‑he'd have to ask Malcolm or Chef where that phrase came from‑‑except that Jonathan Archer was becoming warmer every second longer he stayed in T'Pol's cabin. _Why didn't the Vulcan High Command send someone older-looking, like Soval, or some other male Vulcan?_ Dealing with T'Pol on a daily basis was beginning to seriously distract him, and he didn't need an aloof, pixie-esque distraction like her in his life at this time.

"Captain Archer," she surprised him again, "Ambassador Soval has agreed to speak with you. Would you prefer that I leave?"

"No, no, you're my First Officer, you should hear this," he replied hastily, and T'Pol turned the device around to face him.

Soval was staring at him on the screen that was beneath the game's playing surface. "Please tell me why are you calling for my assistance."

"Something strange has happened to some documents I filed with Starfleet a few months earlier. Admiral Forrest and I think it's troubling, but I don't want to endanger anyone in his office. I would like your assistance‑‑but I don't want to endanger anyone in the Vulcan Legation, either."

"Please give me the details."

Archer pulled the datachip out of his shirt pocket and showed it to T'Pol. "Can the information on this chip be sent to the Ambassador?"

"Yes," she pulled open a grille on the device's control panel and inserted the datachip. Each form flashed on the screen, and a row of lights showed when it was received by the other device.

"These are two and three months old," Soval said after he examined them. "What did Admiral Forrest say about them?"

"He said they never reached his desk. When I resent them with their original date stamps, he discovered that they had been deleted shortly after being received by StarfleetCommunications."

"That is strange, and also suspicious," the Vulcan said, "I will have a member of the Legation investigate this, and‑‑" as Archer was about to interrupt, Soval raised a hand. "Yes, I know that you don't want a Vulcan near Starfleet. We do employ Humans, and they will not betray any Starfleet secrets to us, should they find any."

"Thank you for your help, Ambassador," Archer said, "and have your employees be careful."

"They will be careful, and discreet," Soval concluded, "I will contact T'Pol when I have any information. Vulcan Legation out," he said, and the screen went blank.  
*****

Trip knew Archer had been devastated when he was forced to end his relationship with Erika Hernandez; only Starfleet rules stood in their way after Hernandez was named captain of the second Warp 5 starship. Destroying Malcolm's career would destroy his dearest love and husband, and he'd rather ruin his own career before he'd let Malcolm be ruined by outdated Starfleet regulations. He knew he wasn't the one to find a loophole, but there had to be an exception to the rules. He promised Mal that he'd make a frame for the heavy paper marriage certificates, and after it was done, he'd call Hoshi to see if the loophole was in the certificate.

Malcolm had no illusions that he and Trip would come out of this ordeal unscathed. It wasn't announcing their marriage that bothered him; it was the information he would reveal to Captain Archer, Doctor Phlox, and Trip tomorrow that made him apprehensive. He wouldn't put it past his‑‑his former handler‑‑to have someone else aboard the ship, just in case his 'troublesome' conscience got in the way. He hoped he could save Trip because he knew that his husband had tremendously important things to create for Starfleet, and he had to be alive to do them‑‑but Trip didn't need him to make them happen.

After they had stowed their things and looked in on their respective departments, Tucker and Reed ate together in the Mess. Malcolm had not removed the hand-made wedding ring on his left hand, which surprised Trip, although it shouldn't have, since he hadn't removed his. After dinner, they visited each other's cabins to decide where they'd live together aboard ship‑‑if they would be allowed to live together at all. "Trip, don't you ever clean your cabin? This place reeks!"

"You soun' like my mama! In case you don't remember, I've been away for two days, gettin' married to the most gorgeous male Human in the known galaxy‑‑" Trip tried to embrace and nuzzle his gorgeous male Human, who wasn't deterred by the distraction.

"That's not an excuse! I did a whole morning shift and completely cleaned my cabin before leaving for Risa, and I will not do your chores for you!"

"I didn't ask you to!"

"I was taught at an early age to keep my room ship-shape," Malcolm said, his face pallid, eyes haunted, "and I was disciplined if it wasn't good enough." His meaning sank in, and a horrified expression appeared on Trip's face. His love glanced around the cabin, emotions flitting swiftly over his face. "At first glance, it seems that you don't care‑‑don't respect the responsibility with which you've been entrusted. If you don't respect the responsibility‑‑the rank‑‑you have, how do I know you'll respect me?" His eyes darted around the room. "And I‑‑I don't like the porthole; it‑‑it reminds me too much of a ship's porthole. I‑‑I have to think this over, Trip; this is too much, too soon, too fast, right now," he said hoarsely, and all but ran for the door.

"Malcolm, don't shut me out of what's goin' on in your starched British brain!" Trip exclaimed just as his lover‑‑his husband‑‑was about to hit the door controls.

"I‑‑I don't know what I'm thinking, that's part of the problem," he replied sharply, stopping before he pressed the door controls. Trip knew better than to move suddenly behind Malcolm, or otherwise startle him. He clasped one hand in his, then the other. Malcolm relaxed slightly and released his hand, and Trip moved his left arm around Malcolm's waist.

He leaned his head back onto Trip's chest and sighed deeply. "My 'starched British brain' as you call it, is scared as hell of ruining this," he said softly, "and I've ruined everything else in my life so far."

"That's all right, darlin' deares'," Trip whispered, "I've ruined quite a few relationships in my time, too."

"I‑‑I know this sounds stupid, but sometimes I think machines are much easier to understand than people," Malcolm whispered.

Trip gently placed his hands on his new spouse's shoulders and turned him around to face him. "Well, at leas' we agree about that, deares'. Sometimes, I jump to conclusions about people, an' it's fine; then other times, I'll make a conclusion an' all hell breaks loose." Malcolm leaned his head onto his husband's chest, slipped his hands under Trip's jacket, and rubbed his back. Trip also ran his hands under his love's jacket and felt him shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry for shoutin' at you, darlin' deares'‑‑I'll always respec' you, an' I never want us fightin' like cats an' dogs."

Malcolm chuckled softly. "I happen to like cats, Trip. They're clean, quiet, and inquisitive."

"Well, I like dogs‑‑oh, no, are we gonna be fightin' like cats and dogs?!"

"Not out here, we won't‑‑we seem to be complete opposites attracted to each other, like matter and anti-matter."

"Oh, gawd, no, Mal! I ain' ready for galaxy-vaporizin' explosions!"

"Well, what if I am‑‑do you want to see me and my cabin tonight, or what?"

This time it was Trip who chuckled. "Yes, deares', whatever you say."

Malcolm looked up at him, smiled, snaked a hand around his lover's neck, and gently pulled Trip's head down to kiss him deeply and slowly. When they breathlessly separated some minutes later, he whispered, "Now, if only I could condition you to reply like that when I request more power to the weapons systems."

"Nice try, pal," Trip replied, hugging him, "Let's go see your cabin." Malcolm released him and drew a deep, shuddering breath, pulled himself together, and they walked down the corridor in companionable silence. They entered, and Trip exclaimed, "Mal, how the hell can you live in a box the size of a coffin? An' it don' even have a window!"

"It's an interior cabin, in case you didn't notice, the window reminds me of a ship's porthole, and you know I don't like water."

"There's not much difference between drowning in the ocean or in space."

"Yes, there is; explosive hull decompression in space is an instant and relatively painless death," Malcolm replied, "In drowning, you feel your lungs fill with water and you panic, you struggle for breath, your muscles stiffen‑‑"

"‑‑Stop it, deares'; I don' want ya goin' there, an' I'm sorry I led ya there, Mal," he said, "I‑‑I just found you, deares'‑‑"

"‑‑That's not true, we've been working together for nearly ten months‑‑"

"‑‑That's not what I meant, an' you know it," Trip said, "I realized after the shuttlepod accident just how much I felt for you, but I didn' know how to get the words out, an' I had no way of knowing if you were interested in me as more than just a friend an' drinkin' buddy," he placed his hand on Malcolm's face, "My deares', please promise me that you won' be thinkin' of dyin' nobly anymore. I want you to be thinkin' of savin' everyone‑‑includin' yourself‑‑an' comin' back to _En'erprise_ so I can hol' you an' tell you how much I love'ya an' how happy I am to have you in my arms again."

"My love, please promise me that you'll think of your engines and me before you get distracted by another alien bimbo‑‑"

"‑‑Mal, you can beat me to a bloody pulp if I ever stray from you!"

"‑‑And you can be sure that I will!"

"Mal, I gotta tell the truth 'bout somethin' that happened this weekend," Trip mumbled, "I‑‑I didn' know what I was thinkin' when you were tellin' me about your torture on Goraveso, but I thought I could do it, make ya wanna take a bath with me." Trip was silent for a very long moment. "I kinda hoodwinked you, an' I'm sorry, very sorry, that I did it."

"What do you mean, 'hoodwinked' me?"

"We‑‑it wasn't somethin' weird or alien‑‑we got stuck together with a novelty adhesive lubricant I found in the bedside table; after you passed out again from explodin' so sweetly an' so hard, I smeared one half of the lube on you, an' the other half on me, and jus' made sure we made contact, which was easy‑‑"

"How could you?!" his 'darlin' deares'' roared, his hands coming up to throttle his best friend and lover.

"I didn' think you'd be so upset at the thought of not bein' able to save me!"

"‑‑Of course I'd be upset! I wouldn't have married you, Trip, if I didn't love you!" he shouted. "I went through hell in that tub, even with you talking me through it!"

"I wan'ned you to work it through! I'm sorry, Mal, I didn't un'erstan' just how‑‑how deep an' sweepin' this phobia of yours is!" Trip shouted in reply, "I wan'ned you to see the possibility of puttin' in a physical therapy tank an' lap pool!"

Malcolm stared blankly at Trip. "Are you still serious about designing a physical therapy tank?"

"Never more serious, Mal‑‑you're Starfleet's best Security Officer, an' you need to be at your best at all times, confident an' with a full range of motion‑‑"

"‑‑Full range of motion, you say‑‑"

Trip moved closer to his dearest love; Malcolm turned toward his chest. They unbuttoned each other's shirts, and slid them and their jackets off their bodies. They heeled off their shoes, and were diverted by their disrobing and kissing until they had undressed each other down to their boxer briefs. Trip put one arm beneath Malcolm's knees, wrapped his other arm around his shoulders, placed him onto his bunk, and crawled in next to him, holding his love securely, but not so firmly that he'd panic. "Perhaps we should run some simulations of uncontrolled matter/anti-matter reactions," Malcolm whispered as they caressed, stroked, and rubbed against each others' bodies.

"‑‑Oh, is that wha'cha call it?"

"Abso-bloomin'-lutely, Commander‑‑" But Trip's objection to using his rank was smothered by a deep kiss. When their mouths separated, Malcolm moved his lips to Trip's chest, suckled his nubbins, and his husband groaned incoherently as they distracted each other with their caressing, kissing, and cuddling.

Much later in the night: "Mal, what else do'ya remember about bein' that military prison, or was it all just one big blur?"

"I remember more than I want to, but I‑‑I don't want to repeat myself, and I'd like Captain Archer and Doctor Phlox to be there," he raised his head to gaze longingly at Trip. "I‑‑I'll probably have nightmares for weeks, and I'll understand if you don't want to stay‑‑"

"Gawd, Mal, I'd never leave you alone, 'specially if I know you're gonna have nightmares! I might nudge ya if I was sleepin' heavy, until I woke up enough to figure out what was goin' on, an' then I'm sure I'd hear an' hol'ya."

"You're kind to me, Trip; you are very, very kind, and I don't deserve you."

"My darlin' deares' love, you deserve so much better than me! Please promise me ag'n that you ain' gonna be thinkin' of dyin'," he placed his hand on Malcolm's face, "I want you to come back to me so I can hold you an' tell you how much I love you, how happy I am to have you in my arms again." He hugged his dearest love and gently settled him back on the bed.

"I p‑‑promise, T‑‑Trip, I promise!" They comforted each other with kisses and fell asleep wrapped around each other.  
*****

The following morning, Trip left Malcolm's quarters at oh‑six‑hundred hours to return to his own cabin to shower, shave, and change into a fresh uniform; he stopped at his love's cabin, and they went to the Mess for breakfast together. Just as they entered the line to collect their meals, one of the stewards came from the Galley and intercepted them. "Commander, Lieutenant‑‑ Captain Archer would like to see you in the Captain's Mess," Crewman Roberts said, "Feel free to bring your breakfasts with you, or you can order in there."

Malcolm immediately paled and replaced his empty tray on the stack. "Mal, it's probably just somethin' routine," Trip reassured him, "you need to eat a good breakfast if you're gonna go raise hell in the Armoury the way you usually do when you come back on duty."

"I hope Captain Archer hasn't communicated with Starfleet Command about our‑‑our situation," Malcolm replied uneasily.

The two officers walked through the narrow passageway that connected the Mess Hall to the small Captain's Mess, and Trip pressed the door button. "Come in," a rich voice called out. The door slid open and they entered; Sub-Commander T'Pol was standing by the corridor entrance, and Captain Archer turned in his chair to greet his officers. "Gentlemen, please sit down and order breakfast," he said, gesturing towards the unoccupied chairs in the room.

"Was there something you wanted to see us about, Captain?" Malcolm asked anxiously.

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to postpone our meeting with Phlox until he wakes from hibernation next week," Archer replied, "I hope Trip and you won't be inconvenienced by the delay."

It was good that Trip was standing so close to Malcolm because his love turned bloodlessly pale and began slowly crumpling onto the deck. He and Archer grasped his limp body and moved him to the closest chair. The young officer would have been horrified if he knew that his captain was about to set him upon his own chair. "Cripes, Jonny, don' put him there, that's the Captain's chair! Lemme put him in one of these others," Trip protectively held, lifted, and placed Malcolm on the chair to Archer's right, with his back to the porthole.

"Is Lieutenant Reed ill? Did the automatic Decon scan miss something?" T'Pol asked.

The captain went to the door, buzzed for the steward, and gave whispered instructions. A moment later, Roberts entered with glasses, a pitcher of iced water, and a stack of napkins on a tray, and he placed them on the table. Archer poured a glass of water, moistened a napkin, and handed it to Trip, who knelt next to the chair Malcolm was slumped upon, his right arm wrapped around his best friend's shoulders. Malcolm's drained, ashen face seemed even more white as his head rested upon Trip's shoulder clad in the scarlet striped dark blue Starfleet uniform.

Chef followed Roberts seconds later, ceremoniously carrying a tray with the large Royal Doulton Starfleet teapot, matching cups, saucers, sugar bowl, bowl of sliced lemons, and utensils. "This is a blend of organic spearmint, chamomile, and ginger, and I know Lieutenant Reed isn't allergic to any of them," he said, then glared at Archer and Trip. "What did you two insensitive oafs say to him?" he growled.

T'Pol spoke up again. "The Captain merely told Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed that their meeting with Doctor Phlox and him would have to wait until the doctor wakes from his hibernation next week."

"Hmph," Chef snorted, "If he wasn't our only physician on this tub o' bolts, I'd wake him up with my mama's iron skillet! But I can't do that because it would cause a diplomatic incident, now wouldn't it?! We need more doctors on this ship, Captain!"

"That's enough, Guillame!" Archer exclaimed. More quietly, he asked, "Trip, do you know why the news about Phlox would affect Malcolm like this?"

"I don' know 'xactly what it is, but he's got somethin' weighin' on his mind, an' he needs to talk with you an' Phlox about it," Tucker replied. "I'll be there because we're best frien's, but don' ask me to tell you because I don' know what his story is."

"Sorry about sounding off, Jonny," Chef said, patting the captain's shoulder, "I'm going to make Mister Reed a few things I know he'll like."

He nodded distractedly, filled a water goblet for Malcolm, and placed it on the table in front of him, and gestured for T'Pol to sit, which she did. Trip patted his love's face with the damp napkin until his eyelids fluttered and opened. It was a measure of Reed's distress that he did not even try to regain his composure and spit-and-polish demeanor before the captain and Vulcan sub-commander. "How are you feeling, Malcolm?" Archer asked gently, looking around Trip's shoulder to see him.

"I‑‑I'm not fine, sir, and I don't think I will be until I have the opportunity to speak with you and Doctor Phlox." He noticed T'Pol, sitting across from him, and asked, "Do you think that Phlox would be able to attend a private meeting if he were awakened tomorrow, Sub-Commander?"

"I believe he would not be competent or fit for duty if he were awakened before next week," she replied, "I believe he wouldn't be able to run his department or make decisions about anyone's treatment until then."

"Captain Archer, I‑‑I don't think I can concentrate fully on my duties until I've spoken with you and Doctor Phlox," Malcolm said anxiously. He reached out to pick up the water goblet, but his hand was shaking so noticeably that Trip brought and held it to his lips so he could drink. He nodded when he'd drank his fill, and his friend put the glass down. Malcolm hung his head, and Archer suspected that he might be struggling to hold back tears. "I‑‑I'm sorry that I'm deserting my assigned post, and y‑‑you have every right to r‑‑reprimand or p‑‑punish me‑‑"

"‑‑Malcolm, that's not necessary," Archer quickly interrupted him, "‑‑I can see that you're affected by something you need to tell me and Doctor Phlox. I'm not going to punish you for something that's causing you distress."

"I'll spen' all my off duty time with you, Mal," Trip murmured; he wrapped his arms across his love's back and waist, and returned Malcolm's head to his shoulder.

"In this case, it'd be better if I also put you onto light duties, Trip. You'll worry if you're not with Malcolm; you can keep him company and distract him from whatever's troubling him. Lieutenant Reed‑‑" Malcolm raised his head quickly, knowing it was Archer the captain and not Archer the man speaking, "‑‑do you think you'd be able to function during an emergency?"

Malcolm snorted at the question. "If anything, sir, it would be a welcome diversion from the thoughts with which I'm preoccupied now," he replied, shuddering, "I'd be able to focus on my primary duty‑‑protecting this crew and this ship."

"We'll do this," Archer announced, "T'Pol, we'll run this as an active emergency exercise. Our Medical Officer is ill, injured, or hibernating, and one or more department heads are affected by or recovering from illness or injuries as well. Roberts‑‑"

"Yes, sir?" The steward entered the chamber from the passageway.

"Please check the Mess hall, locate Ensign Stone and Lieutenant Hess, and have them join us. If they're not there, Sub-Commander T'Pol will call them."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later, Roberts returned with another officer who appeared only a few years younger than Reed and was carrying a mug of steaming coffee, "Here's Ensign Stone, sir."

"Is everything all right, Captain?" the young man asked politely and nodded in silent greeting to his superior officer. Reed, even as embarrassed as he was, still nodded in reply.

"Have you seen Lieutenant Hess this morning?" Archer asked and turned in his chair to study the junior officer.

"She and Lieutenant Rostov were going to Engineering when I got off the turbo-lift," he replied. "I came up because it's very unlike Lieutenant Reed to be late for his shift after shore leave or even medical leave, sir; that's why I was checking the Mess."

"I'll call Engineering and have Lieutenant Hess come up, captain," T'Pol said. She walked to the passageway between the Captain's Mess and the general Mess to make the call. She returned to the table, and Stone held out her chair for her. After being seated, she said, "I've also called Ensign Cutler, since this includes the operation of Sickbay."

Stone stood by the door, which he opened when it chimed. Anna Hess, Liz Cutler, and Mike Rostov barged in. "Captain, will the Lieutenant be okay?!" Hess asked, "Commander Tucker can't concentrate on anything when Lieutenant Reed's in Sickbay!" Trip groaned and dropped his head onto Malcolm's brow; his personal Armoury Officer merely blushed and chuckled.

"I'm sorry I came up with Anna, sir," Rostov said, "but we've been looking for Commander Tucker all morning. We even checked Sickbay‑‑"

"‑‑That's correct, sir," Cutler declared, "They were worried that the Commander and Lieutenant Reed ended up in Sickbay; they also visited Travis‑‑"

"‑‑Travis? What happened to Travis?!" Trip raised his head and asked anxiously.

"Ensign Mayweather broke his leg while mountain climbing; he did not feel comfortable dealing with the Risan doctors," T'Pol said, "Ensign Cutler and I needed to wake Doctor Phlox for his advice. Unfortunately, we cannot wake him again for that reason; he needs to recover from the interruption of his deep sleep patterns."

"All right, everyone, please come in and take a seat," Archer said. "Roberts, bring in a carafe of coffee and cups, and if anyone wants to order breakfast, let Roberts know. We'll be running an active emergency training exercise this week, where our Medical Officer is ill or hibernating and one or more department heads are affected by illness or recovering from injuries, in this case, Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed‑‑"

"Congratulations, sirs!" Cutler and Hess said simultaneously.

"Excuse me?" Archer asked.

"It's so sweet that they finally got married‑‑" Cutler continued.

"‑‑Although it's a shame you didn't get to perform the ceremony aboard ship, sir," Hess concluded.

"How could you tell?!" Tucker and Reed asked in unison.

"Did Ensign Sato say anything to anyone?" the captain asked warily.

"You still have your wedding bands on, sirs," Cutler and Hess replied together.

"Oh." Malcolm had that now familiar pole-axed expression on his face. Chef regally carried in a tray and attentively placed china, utensils, and food before him. The young officer looked down at his plate and up at Chef in astonishment. "Cinnamon toast and a boiled egg?! Chef, how did you know that I like cinnamon toast?! And boiled eggs?!"

"I have my sources!" Chef replied, "There's only a dash of Vietnamese cinnamon on the toast, and I used superfine sugar. I have some real milk heating up for creamed wheat cereal; oatmeal would just make you more queasy, I think."

"Thank you very much, Chef, that's very kind of you."

Cutler, Stone, Hess, and Rostov sat to T'Pol's left in a row and around the far end of the table. Ensign Cutler seemed ill at ease to be included at this impromptu breakfast meeting with the captain. Roberts quickly and deftly positioned china, utensils, and glasses for everyone at the table and took Archer's whispered breakfast order. After he returned with the captain's meal, he brought a chair for Trip so he could sit next to Malcolm, across from T'Pol. T'Pol arranged a cup and saucer, poured tea, and moved it in front of Malcolm's place setting for him. "Thank you, Sub-Commander," he said shyly.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant."

Roberts took Trip's breakfast order, then came around the table to make quiet inquiries of the other officers. T'Pol made her request, but Cutler was too anxious to have anything except toast and coffee. Stone, Hess, and Rostov had eaten earlier, but Stone was nursing a second cup of coffee and ordered another serving of toast.

Archer and Trip were eating their hearty breakfasts while Trip regaled everyone at the table with his and Malcolm's afternoon at the History of Weapons wing at the Museum of Technology. He asked about Travis's accident, and Liz Cutler loosened up a little, describing what happened and T'Pol's efforts to wake Phlox‑‑and keep him awake long enough to diagnose and treat the helmsman before the Denobulan doctor fell asleep again. T'Pol completed her breakfast of _plomeek_ broth, egg-and-milk-free French toast, fruit salad, and herbal tea. Malcolm slowly consumed his stack of toast, hot wheat cream cereal, Lyle's Golden Syrup, fruit salad, tea, and two eggs, because Chef coaxed him into eating a second perfectly soft-boiled egg. He seemed more composed than he had been earlier, even though he and Trip still sat closely together. The engineer whispered to him now and then, and tried to give him some of his crispy, spicy Cajun bacon, but Malcolm declined.

After everyone finished their breakfast or toast and coffee, Archer tapped a butter knife on his water glass to get everyone's attention. "Now that we've finished breakfast, I'll tell you what we're doing this week. We'll be performing an active emergency practice exercise where our Medical Officer is ill, or injured, or hibernating, and one or more department heads are affected by an illness or recovering from injuries as well. Ensign Cutler, you'll be in charge of Sickbay for the week, until Doctor Phlox is declared fit for duty by Sub-Commander T'Pol and yourself; in case of a medical emergency, you'll coordinate with her." Cutler nodded vigorously and glanced at T'Pol. "It means that you'll be on duty during alpha shift for the whole week, and on-call when you go off duty. Do you know who is the backup medical assistant or the EMTs? You and the Sub-Commander will schedule them for the other shifts, so Sickbay has full coverage‑‑"

"‑‑Uh, um, excuse me, sir?" Roberts said timidly from the corner of the room.

"Yes?"

"I‑‑I'm supposed to be Ensign Cutler's backup, but I never completed my training because we left Space Dock early‑‑"

Archer growled. "Sorry, that wasn't aimed at you‑‑in my eagerness to return Klaang to _Qo'nos_, many things were left unfinished or were never loaded onto the ship‑‑like the phase cannons, Malcolm‑‑"

"‑‑It's not that, Captain‑‑the EMTs are Security personnel," Reed said, "Two EMTs are on each shift's Rescue Squad, six in all, and six backups, but I suspect they didn't complete their training, either."

"Shoot, Cap'n, that means the backup firefighters prob'ly never finished their trainin', either," Trip said.

"And here I thought this was just going to be a quick postponement and rescheduling of a meeting," Archer said, an elbow on the table, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I‑‑I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have‑‑" Reed mumbled.

"‑‑Malcolm you do not have to apologize for things that are not your fault," the captain said. "Actually, the Sub-Commander and I should have remembered the circumstances‑‑"

"‑‑If you remember, Captain, I was supposed to be only an observer to assist you and the crew in returning Klaang to the Klingon homeworld, and then _Enterprise_ would return to Earth to complete the on-loading of supplies and equipment, and I would return to the Vulcan Legation."

"Never mind that now," the captain said, "Roberts, please bring Chef in."

"Now what, Captain?" the big, burly man grumbled, even as he brought another stack of cinnamon toast to the lieutenant, who thanked him as he, Chef, and Archer all slapped Trip's hand when he tried to filch a slice of buttery, sugary, aromatic bread off Malcolm's plate.

"I have to reassign Roberts to Sickbay for a week, perhaps longer; he's Ensign Cutler's backup medical assistant, and he has to finish his medical training with Cutler and Sub-Commander T'Pol."

"You're killin' me here!" Chef exclaimed, then sighed. "I'll have to train up one of the Galley slaves, but remember that there's a learning curve here‑‑I don't want your nose out of joint if you get served steak along with the rest of the cavemen here," he said and jabbed his finger at T'Pol.

"Chef!" Archer muttered.

"When are you taking him?"

"Tomorrow or the day after, as soon as we get the training schedules worked out," Archer replied. "I feel like I'm juggling uncooked eggs here‑‑"

"‑‑Perhaps you should cross-train in the Galley‑‑"

"‑‑Perhaps I will, just to give my brain a rest. That will be all for now, Chef," and the man left the room.

"Roberts, the Sub-Commander will call you when she and Ensign Cutler are ready for your training to start."

"Very good, sir," Roberts said crisply, "will there be anything else?"

"That will be all for now." Roberts nodded, began to clear the table of used china, utensils, glassware, and left when his tray was full.

"Sub-Commander, who has the Conn right now?" Archer asked T'Pol.

"Lieutenant Commander O'Neill; I asked her to stay a few minutes longer so I could brief you."

"Well, it's definitely been longer than a few minutes; go up to the Bridge and relieve her," he said. "Ensign Cutler, head back to Sickbay now; T'Pol, go with her and pull up the training programs before you go up to the Bridge. I want you to ask every crewmember if they completed their backup cross-training, particularly medical, firefighting, and life support. I'll talk to you when I get up there."

"Of course, Captain," the Sub-Commander replied, "I'll get the crew manifest started now."

"Yes, sir," Cutler replied, and the two women left the Captain's Mess.

"Does anyone know who the alpha shift EMTs are?"

"Gerrold and Zahn," Malcolm said, "unless they've traded shifts with other personnel, sir."

"It is Gerrold and Zahn, Captain Archer," Ensign Stone spoke up, "I don't allow any crew to exchange shifts on the day Lieutenant Reed returns from shore or medical leave."

"All right, gentlemen‑‑and lady, Lieutenant Hess‑‑I don't mean to put you on the spot, but I'd like to hear the briefings you'd give Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed if they went to their departments instead of being test subjects for our emergency exercise."

"Um, would you like me to plug in the datapadd so you can see the graphs and charts, sir?"

"No, that won't be‑‑"

"‑‑Yeah, upload it, Anna," Trip said, then shrugged at Archer, "I'm gonna have to look at the graphs sooner or later, may as well be now." Reed and Tucker moved their chairs away from each other, and each man adopted his professional demeanor. A moment later, Hess had her padd streaming to the overhead image projector, Stone turned the lights off, and Rostov polarized the porthole's film to block the starlight. The young engineer gave her report briskly and succinctly, until she reached an energy drop on the previous day's graph and faltered.

"Well, what happened, guys?" Trip asked, "It can't be that bad, can it?"

Hess sighed resignedly and Rostov grunted. "If you must know, sir, it was Crewman Masaro again," she said.

"Um, permission to speak freely, Captain Archer?" Rostov asked softly.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant Rostov," he replied.

"Can we just throw Masaro into the Brig and forget to let him out, sir?" the junior engineer asked. "He doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and he slacks off all the time. I'd hate to have you or the Commander showing alien dignitaries around Engineering when Masaro screws something up‑‑he could get everybody killed without even trying."

"Trip, why didn't you tell me about Masaro sooner?" Archer asked sharply.

"I wanted to give him a chance to get better, turn himself around‑‑"

"‑‑He's had loads of chances to improve‑‑" Rostov interjected.

"Lieutenant Reed could leave him in the Brig, or you could issue a formal reprimand, Captain Archer," Stone said.

"Cripes, what has that sonuvabitch done now?!" Tucker exclaimed.

"This is the only item in my Security report for Lieutenant Reed," Stone replied, "Masaro got into a fight with Novakovich at oh‑one‑hundred hours this morning, sirs, at the floating poker game. Shinn from Hydroponics complained that Masaro was either counting cards or otherwise cheating. Novakovich said he'd bring it to Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather's attention‑‑they're the hosts of the game, sir‑‑to have him banned from all future games. Masaro got pissed off, he and Novakovich shoved each other around until Shinn went to the intercom panel to call Security and Masaro tried to pull her away‑‑Novakovich pulled him off Shinn, and Masaro slugged him. Shinn's call to Security went through, and‑‑" he consulted his datapadd, "‑‑Gibson and Sterling were the gamma shift responders. Masaro didn't have more to drink than the rest of the group they thought, but he certainly appeared to be more intoxicated‑‑"

"Commander, you were on shore leave, so I took the liberty of looking into Masaro's personnel folder," Hess said, "You can reprimand me for that later, but did you know that Masaro was a second or third pick from Starfleet Engineering? He barely graduated from the Academy, and he was a last-minute replacement for Crewman Carey, who was in a car accident a week before we left Space Dock‑‑"

"‑‑You don't think he had somethin' to do with all those screwed up shipping orders, do'ya, Cap'n?" Trip asked.

"He could be a possible suspect, but we don't have any evidence."

"What do you think, Mal?"

"I don't know, Commander, but he's been sullen and resentful every time you've sent him to work in the Armoury," Reed said, "which is why I specifically asked you not to send him anymore."

"Both of you work up a complete incident log of every single time Masaro has caused problems, either work problems in Engineering or off-duty problems that Security has responded to, and send them to me," Archer said, "Has the Galley been told that he's in the Brig? Have the utilities been activated in his cell?"

"Both of those are automatic when a prisoner is brought into a cell, Captain," Malcolm said.

"Good. Masaro was allegedly intoxicated when he was taken into custody," Archer said, "Who calls Sickbay if he would need medical attention?"

"Cap'n, don' you think he should suffer with his hangover for a little while as punishment for upsettin' the poker game?" Trip said.

"There have been times when you've called a hangover 'cruel and unusual punishment,' Commander Tucker," Malcolm murmured in amusement, but he recovered his professionalism quickly. "Ensign Stone, call Sickbay and have Ensign Cutler prepare a hangover relief hypospray, and escort her to the Brig‑‑I don't trust Masaro, and take someone with you‑‑Sheen, or Everett." He suddenly realized that he was giving orders in front of his commanding officer, and a mortified expression crossed his face.

Archer smiled. "At ease, Lieutenant‑‑you are the head of your department; I'd expect you to issue orders regarding a crewmember in the Brig," He glanced at Hess, Rostov, and Stone, "Are there any other topics or matters to bring up to your respective department heads before you leave?" He received a chorus of 'No, sir,' and replied, "Dismissed." They left quickly and he thought for a long moment before speaking again. "Lieutenant Reed, I'd like you to report to Sickbay every morning before breakfast to have your vital statistics recorded‑‑" Archer raised his hand before Malcolm could object, "‑‑I could have Trip escort you there. I just want Phlox to have a record of your vital signs; I don't want to learn that your blood pressure has gone up, or that you've stopped eating‑‑"

"‑‑Guess he's got yer number, Mal‑‑" Trip snickered softly. Reed glared at him.

"If you feel uncomfortable in the Mess Hall, you're welcome to eat breakfast or any other meal here, whether I'm here or not. Consider it a standing invitation if you want to leave your quarters for a time," Archer said, "I want both you and Commander Tucker to check in with your SICs after breakfast and hold your daily and weekly briefings as usual, besides using the gym and lounges. As I said before, I'd like to have a list of all of Masaro's work and off-duty problems; I'll write a memo for the command staff, so Phlox can see the whys and wherefores. As soon as Sub-Commander T'Pol and Ensign Cutler declare him fit for duty, we'll reschedule the meeting you want to hold."

"Yes, sir," Reed said softly.

"Uh, Jonny?" Trip inquired, "You're not gonna say anything about us‑‑Mal 'n' me‑‑to Starfleet until we have that meetin', are'ya?"

"No, no, I have no reason to say anything about either of you to Starfleet," Archer said, trying to keep a straight face, "Except that you're both exemplary officers and irreplaceable to _Enterprise_ and me." Malcolm, of course, blushed deeply, and Trip put his arm around the slender man's shoulders.

"You don' have any objection to Mal 'n' me stayin' overnight in one of our cabins, do'ya?

"Trip! We're command staff, for heaven's sake!" Malcolm whispered, embarrassed that his husband broached the private subject.

"As long as Malcolm makes it to Sickbay before breakfast and both of you go to your morning meetings, I don't care what you do when you're off duty," Archer said, "but if anyone's professionalism suffers because of your relationship, then I will speak to you. Don't let it become a matter for Starfleet."

"Yessir." "Yes, sir," they replied.

"And I'm sorry to say, I don't think you'll have much time off today, gentlemen. Please put together a complete log of every single incident where Masaro has caused problems, either work issues in Engineering or the Armoury, or off-duty problems that Security has responded to, and send them to me as soon as possible," Archer said. "Also, Sub-Commander T'Pol will probably call to verify that the personnel in your departments have completed their backup training, or schedule it, if they haven't‑‑"

"‑‑Captain Archer, that means I may be more busy than I thought I'd be with this‑‑this hanging over me‑‑" Malcolm said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Commander, may I use your datapadd for a moment?"

Trip rolled his eyes at his spouse's formality. "Of course, Mister Reed," he murmured and handed the device to him.

The Armoury officer pointed it at the desk, typed in a code, the device beeped, and he passed it to Archer. "If you review my records, sir, you'll see that I'm certified as an Emergency Medical Instructor, and as a Starship Firefighting Instructor."

"Showoff," Trip muttered under his breath, but hugged his spouse tenderly; Malcolm merely showed the barest hint of a smug smirk.

"You know, Lieutenant Reed, if you didn't get injured so frequently, you could assist Phlox in Sickbay more often," Archer replied after he set down the padd. Malcolm groaned quietly and dropped his head onto Trip's chest again while Archer and Trip chuckled.  
******


End file.
